P O E 



S 



BY 



JOAQUIN MILLER 




BOSTON 
ROBERTS BROTHERS 

1889 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the years 1871, 1873, 1875, 1878, 1887, 

C. H. MILLER. 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at "Washington. 



University Press : John Wilson & Son. 
Cambridge. 



TO MAUD. 



Trans'er 
2 

Oc 16 1942 

Accessions visic? 



CONTENTS. 



SOXGS OF THE SIERRAS. 

Arizoxian 1 

With Walker in Nicaragua 23 

Californian 65 

The Last Taschastas 107 

Ina 129 

The Tale of the Tall Alcalde 195 

Kit Carson's Ride 243 

Burns and Byron 255 

Myrrh 267 

Even So 277 



SONGS OF THE SUN-LANDS. 

Isles of the Amazons 7 

From Sea to Sea 105 

By the Sun-down Seas 115 

In the Indian Summer 149 



10 CONTENTS. 

Unica-^terna 89 

Sirocco . 92 

Pace Implora 94 

Alone 97 

Implora 99 

The Quest of Love . 100 

O Love 102 

After the Boar-Hunt ]04 

Dolce far niente 107 

To THE Lion of St. Mark 109 

To THE Lion of St. Mark again .... Ill 

Under the Lion of St. Mark at Xight . . 113 

To Santa Barbara of Venice 115 

A Storm in Venice 117 

A Hail- Storm in Venice 119 

Farewell to the Lion of St. Mark .... 121 

After all 124 

Maime mia 127 

The Winged Lion once more 128 

Cavalier vs. Cavalier 131 

A Prince of Rome 133 

Gambler or Prince 138 

A Peasant's Plea 140 

A Dream of Venice 142 



CONTENTS, 11 

Foa THE Nile 144 

Vespers in San Marco 146 

Recollection 147 

torcello 150 

Attila's Throne : Torcello 151 

Santa Maria : Torcello 158 

Lilian 162 

Life 164 

In Peee la Chaise 165 

Longing for Home 168 

Pestam 170 

Titian's Land 171 

In Innsbruck 173 

For Princess Maud 174 

I SHALL remember 176 

Yale . 178 



SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The Sea of Fire 9 

The Rhyme of the Great River 57 



SONGS OF THE SIERRAS. 



ttecause the shies were blue, because 

The sun in fringes of the sea 

Was tangled, and delightfully 

Kept dancing on as in a waltz, 

And tropic trees bow*d to the seas, 

And bloom'd and bore, years through and through^ 

And birds in blended gold and blue 

Wei'e thick and sweet as swarming bees. 

And sang as if in paradise. 

And all that paradise was spring — 

Did I too sing with lifted eyes. 

Because I could not choose but sing. 

With garments full of sea-icinds blown 
From isles beyond of spice and balm, 
Beside the sea, beneath her palm, 
She waits as true as chiseWd stone. 
My childhood's child ! my June in May t 
So wiser than thy father is. 
These lines, these leaves, and all of this 
Are thine, — a loose, uncouth bouquet. 
So wait and watch for sail and sign ; 
A ship shall mount the hollow seas. 
Blown to thy place of blossom' d trees. 
And birds, and song, and summer-shine. 

I throw a kiss across the sea, 

I drink the winds as drinking wine. 

And dream they all are blown from thee: 

I catch the whisper' d kiss of thine. 

Shall I return ivith lifed face, 

Or head held down as in disgrace. 

To hold thy two brown hands in mine f 



^ 



ENGiJi.irD, 1871. 



SONGS OF THE SIEREAS. 



ARIZOKIAN. 

** \ NT) I have said, and I say it ever, 

As the years go on and the world goes overt 
'Twere better to be content and clever 
In tending of cattle and tossing of clover, 
In the grazing of cattle and the growing of gram, 
Than a strong man striving for fame or gain ; 
Be even as kine in the red-tipp'd clover ; 
For they lie down and then- rests are rests. 
And the days are theirs, come sun come rain, 
To lie, rise up, and repose again ; 
While we wish, yearn, and do pray in vain, 
And hope to ride on the billows of bosoms, 
And hope to rest in the haven of breasts, 
TiU the heart is sicken'd and the fair hope dead ; 
Be even as clover with its crown of blossoms, 
Even as blossoms ere the bloom is shed, 



4 ARIZONIAN. 

Kiss'd by kine and the brown sweet bee — 
For these have the sun, and moon, and ah", 
And never a bit of the burthen of care ; 
And with all of our caring what more have we ? 
I would court content like a lover lonely, 
I would woo her, win her, and wear her only, 
And never go over this white sea wall 
For gold or glory or for aught at all." 

He said these things as he stood with the Squire 
By the river's rim in the fields of clover, 
"While the stream flow'd under and the clouds flew over 
With the sun tangled in and the fringes afire. 
So the Squire lean'd with a kind desire 
To humor his guest, and to hear his story ; 
For his guest had gold, and he yet was clever, 
And mild of manner ; and, what was more, he, 
In the morning's ramble, had praised the kine, 
The clover's reach and the meadows fine. 
And so made the Squu-e his friend for ever. 

His brow was brown'd by the sun and weather, 
And touch'd by the ten*ible hand of time ; 
His rich black beard had a fiinge of rime, 



ARIZONIAN. 

As silk and silver inwove together. 

There were hoops of gold all over his hands, 

And across his breast, in chains and bands, 

Broad and massive as belts of leather. 

And the belts of gold were bright in the sun, 

But brighter than gold his black eyes shone 

From their sad face-setting so swarth and dun. 

Brighter than beautiful Santan stone, 

Brighter even than balls of fire, 

As he said, hot-faced, in the face of the Squire : — 

" The pines bow'd over, the stream bent under 
The cabin cover'd with thatches of palm, 
Down in a canon so deep, the wonder 
Was what it could know in its clime but cahn. 
Down in a caiion so cleft asunder 
By sabre-stroke in the young world's prime. 
It look'd as broken by bolts of thunder. 
And bursted asunder and rent and riven 
By earthquakes, driven, the turbulent time 
A red cross lifted red hands to heaven. 
And this in the land where the sun goes down. 
And gold is gathered by tide and by stream. 
And maidens are brown as the cocoa brown, 



6 ARIZONIAN. 

And a life is a love and a love is a dream ; 
Where the winds come in fi'om the far Cathay 
With odor of spices and balm and bay, 
And summer abideth for aye and aye, 
Nor comes in a tour with the stately June, 
And comes too late and returns too soon 
To the land of the sun and of summer's noon. 

" She stood in the shadows as the sun went down. 
Fretting her curls with her fingers brown, 
As tall as the silk-tipp'd tassel'd corn — 
Stood strangely watching as I weigh'd the gold 
We had wash'd that day where the river roll'd ; 
And her proud lip curl'd with a sun-clime scorn, 
As she ask'd, ' Is she better or fau-er than I ? — 
She, that blonde in the land beyond. 
Where the sun is hid and the seas are high — 
That you gather in gold as the years go on. 
And hoard and hide it away for her 
As a squii-rel burrows the black pine-bm-r ? ' 

• 

" Now the gold weigh'd well, but was lighter of weight 
Than we two had taken for days of late, 
So I was fretted, and, brow a-frown, 



ARIZONIAN. 7 

1 said, ' She is fairer, and I loved her first. 
And shall love her last come the worst to worst.' 
Now her eyes were black and her skin was brown, 
But her lips grew livid and her eyes afire 
As I said this tliino; : and hisfher and hio;her 
The hot words ran, when the booming thunder 
Peal'd in the crags and the pine-tops under, 
While up by the cliff in the murky skies 
It look'd as the clouds had cauo-ht the fire — 
The flash and fire of her wonderful eyes. 

" She turn'd fi-om the door and down to the nver. 
And mirror'd her face in the whimsical tide ; 
Then threw back her hair, as if throwing a quiver, 
As an Indian throws it back far from his side 
And free from his hands, smnging fast to the shoulder 
When rushing to battle ; and, rising, she sigh'd 
And shook, and shiver'd as aspens shiver. 
Then a great green snake slid into the river, 
Glistening, green, and with eyes of fire ; 
Quick, double-handed she seized a boulder, 
And cast it with all the fury of passion, 
As with lifted head it went curving across, 
Swift darting its tongue Uke a fierce desire, 



8 ARIZONIAJSi, 

Curving and curving, lifting higher and higher, 

Bent and beautiful as a river moss ; 

Then, smitten, it turn'd, bent, broken and doubled, 

And lick'd, red-tongued, like a forked fire. 

And sank, and the troubled waters bubbled, 

And then swej^t on in their old swift fashion. 

" I lay in my hammock : the air was heavy 
And hot and threat'ning ; the very heaven 
Was holding its breath ; and bees in a bevy 
Hid under my thatch ; and birds were driven 
In clouds to the rocks in a hurried whirr 
As I peer'd down by the path for her. 
She stood like a bronze bent over the river, 
The proud eyes fix'd, the passion unspoken — 
When the heavens broke like a great dyke broken. 
Then, ere I fairly had time to give her 
A shout of warning, a rushing of wind 
And the rolling of clouds and a deafening din 
And a darkness that had been black to the blind 
Came down, as I shouted, ' Come in ! come in ! 
Come under the rooij come up from the river, 
As up from a grave — come now, or come never I ' 
Ths tassel'd tops of the pines were as weeds, 



ARIZONIAN, 9 

The red- woods rock'd like to lake-side reeds, 

And the world seem'd darken'd and drown'd for ever. 

" One time in the night as the black wind shifted, 
And a flash of lightning stretch'd over the stream, 
1 seem'd to see her with her brown hands Hfted — 
Only seem'd to see, as one sees in a dream — 
With her eyes wide wild and her pale lips press'd. 
And the blood from her brow and the flood to hex 

breast ; 
When the flood caught her hair as the flax in a wheel, 
And wheeling and whirling her round like a reel, 
Laugh'd loud her despair, then leapt long like a steed, 
Holding tight to her hair, folding fast to her heel. 
Laughing fierce, leaping far as if spurr'd to its speed . • 
Now mind, I tell you all this did but seem — 
Was seen as you see fearful scenes in a dream ; 
For what the devil could the lightning show 
In a night like that, I should like to know ! 

" And then I slept, and sleeping I dream'd 
Of great green serpents with tongues of fire. 
And of death by drowning, and of after death — • 
Of the day of judgment, wherein it seem'd 



10 ARIZONIAN. 

That she, the heathen, was bidden higher, 
Higher than I ; that I clung to her side, 
And clinging struggled, and struggling cried, 
And crying, waken'd, all weak of my breath. 

" Long leaves of the sun lay over the floor, 
And a chipmonk chirp'd in the open door. 
But above on his crag the ea^le scream'd, 
Scream'd as he never had scream'd before. 
I rush'd to the river : the flood had gone 
Like a thief, with only his tracks upon 
The weeds and grasses and warm wet sand ; 
And I ran after with reaching hand. 
And call'd as I reach'd and reach'd as I ran, 
And ran till I came to the caiion's van, 
Where the waters lay in a bent lagoon, 
Hook'd and crook'd like the horned moon. 

" Here in the surge where the waters met. 
And the w^arm wave lifted, and the winds did fret 
The wave till it foam'd with rage on the land. 
She lay with the wave on the warm white sand ; 
Her rich hair trail'd with the trailing weeds, 
And lier small brown hands lay prone or lifted 



ARIZONIAN. n 

^lS the wave sang strophes in the broken leeds, 

)r paused in pity, and in silence sifted 

5ands of gold, as upon her grave. 

ind as sure as you see yon browsing kine, 

Vnd breathe the breath of your meadows fine, 

-Vhen I went to my waist in the warm white wave 

\nd stood all pale in the wave to my breast, 

Ind reach'd for her in her rest and unrest, 

ler hands were lifted and reach'd to mine. 

" Now mind, I tell you I ciied, * Come in ! 
>ome in to the house, come out from the hollow, 
])ome out of the storm, come up from the river ! ' 
>ied, and call'd, in that desolate din, 
rhoitgh I did not rush out, and in plain words give her 
^ worciy warning of the flood to follow, 
^ord by word, and letter by letter : 
5ut she xixcw it as well as I, and better ; 
•"or once in the desert of New Mexico 
Vhen I sought frantically far and wide 
•"or the famous spot where Apaches shot 
f7ith bullets of gold their bufialo, 
^nd she followed faithfully at my side, 

threw me down in the hard hot sand 



12 ARIZONIAN, 

Utterly famish' d, and ready to die, 

And a speck arose in the red-hot sky — 

A speck no larger than a lady's hand — 

While she at my side bent tenderly over, 

Shielding my face from the sun as a cover, 

And wetting my face, as she watch'd by my side, 

From a skin she had borne till the high noon-tide, 

(I had emptied mine in the heat of the morning) 

When the thunder mutter'd far over the plain 

Like a monster bound or a beast in pain, 

She sprang the instant, and gave the warning, 

With her brown hand pointed to the burning skies. 

I was too weak unto death to arise, 

And I pray'd for death in my deep despau*, 

And did curse and clutch in the sand in my rage, 

And bite in the bitter white ashen sage, 

That covers the desert Hke a coat of hair ; 

But she knew the peril, and her iron will, '•• 

With heart as true as the great North Star, 

Did bear me up to the palm-tipp'd hill. 

Where the fiercest beasts in a brotherhood. 

Beasts that had fled fi-om the plain and far, 

In perfectest peace expectant stood. 

With theu' heads held high, and their limbs a-quiver ' 



ARIZONIAN, 13 

And ere she barely had time to breathe 

The boiling waters began to seethe 

From hill to hill in a booming river, 

Beating and breaking from hill to hill — 

Even while yet the sun shot fire, 

Without the shield of a cloud above — 

Filhng the canon as you would fill 

A wine-cup, drinking in swift desire. 

With the brim new-kiss' d by the lips you love. 

*' So you see she knew — knew perfectly well. 
As well as I could shout and tell. 
The mountains would send a flood to the plain. 
Sweeping the gorge like a humcane. 
When the fire flash'd, and the thunder fell. 
Therefore it is wrong, and I say therefore 
Unfair, that a mystical brown wing'd moth 
Or midnight bat should for evermore 
Fan my face with its wings of air, 
And follow me up, down, everywhere, 
Flit past, pursue me, or fly before. 
Dimly limning in each fair place 
The full fix'd eyes and the sad brown face^ 
So forty times worse than if it were wroth. 



14 ARIZONIAN 

" I gather'd the gold I had hid in the earth, 
Hid over the door and hid under the hearth : i 

Hoarded and hid, as the world went over, . 

For the love of a blonde by a sun-brown'd lover ; 
And I said to myself, as I set my face 
To the East and afar from the desolate place, \ 

* She has braided her tresses, and through her tears ^ 
Look'd away to the West, for years, the years 
That I have wrought where the sun tans brown ; 
She has waked by night, she has watch'd by day, 
She has wept and wonder'd at my delay, ^ 

Alone and in tears, with her head held down. 
Where the shijDS sail out and the seas swirl in, 
Forgetting to knit and refusing to spin. 
She shall lift her head, she shall see her lover. 
She shall hear his voice like a sea that rushes. 
She shall hold his gold in her hands of snow. 
And down on his breast she shall hide her blushes, 
And never a care shall her true heart know. 
While the clods are below, or the clouds are above her. '' 

" On the fringe of the night she stood with hei 
pitcher 
At the old town-pump : and oh ! passing fair • 



ARIZONIAN. IS 

^ 1 am riper now,' 1 said, ' but am richer,' 

And I lifted my hand to my beard and hau* ; 

* I am bm'nt by the sun,» I am brown'd by the sea , 

I am white of my beard, and am bald, may be ; 

Yet for all such things what can her heart care ? ' 

Then she moved ; and I said, ' How marvellous fair I 

She look'd to the West, with her arm arch'd over; 

' Looking for me, her sun-brown'd lover,' 

I said to myself, with a hot heart-thump. 

And £cepp'd me nearer to the storm-stain'd pump, 

As approaching a friend ; for 'twas here of old 

Our troths were plighted and the tale was told. 

" How young she was and how fair she was ! 
How tall as a palm, and how pearly fiir, 
As the night came down on her glorious hair ! 
Then the night grew deep and the eye grew dim. 
And a sad-faced figure began to swim 
And float in my face, flit past, then pause. 
With her hands held up and her head held down, 
Yet face to face ; and her face was brown. 
Now why did she come and confront me there, 
With the mould on her face and the moist in her luiir, 
And a mystical stare in her marvellous eyes ? 



16 ARIZONIAN. 

I had call'd to her twice, ' Come in ! come in ! 

Come out of the storm to the calm within ! ' 

Kow, that is the reason that I make complain 

That for ever and ever her face should arise, 

Facing face to face with her great sad eyes. 

I said then to myself, and I say it again, 

Gainsay it you, gainsay it who will, 

I shall say it over and over still. 

And will say it ever, for I know it true. 

That I did all that a man could do 

(Some good men's doings are done in vain) 

To save that passionate child of the sun, 

With her love as deep as the doubled main. 

And as strong and fierce as a troubled sea — 

That beautiful bronze with its soul of fire. 

Its tropical love and its kingly ire — 

That child as fix'd as a pyramid. 

As tall as a tula and as pure as a nun — 

And all there is of it the all I did, 

As often happens, was done in vain. 

So there is no bit of her blood on me. 

" * She is marvellous young and is wonderful fair, 
I said again, and my heart grew bold, 



ARIZONIAN, 17 

And beat and beat a charge for my feet. 

' Time that defaces us, places, and replaces us, 

And trenches the faces as in furrows for tears, 

Has traced here nothing in all these years. 

'Tis the hair of gold that I vex'd of old, 

The marvellous flowing flower of hair, 

And the peaceful eyes in their sweet surprise 

That I have kiss'd till the head swam round, 

And the delicate curve of the dimpled chin, 

And the pouting lips and the pearls within 

Are the same, the same, but so young, so fair ! ' 

My heart leapt out and back at a bound. 

As a child that starts, then stops, then lingers. 

* How wonderful young ! ' I lifted my fingers 
And fell to counting the round years over 
That I had dwelt where the sun goes down. 
Four full hands, and a finger over ! 

* She does not know me, her truant lover,' 
I said to myself, for her brow was a^frown 

As I stepp'd still nearer, with my head held down. 
All abash'd and in blushes my brown face over ; 

* She does not know me, her long-lost lover, 
For my beard 's so long and my skin 's so brown, 
That I well might pass myself for another.' 

2 



1 8 ARIZONIAN, 

So I lifted my voice and I spoke aloud ; 
' Annette, my darling ! Annette Macleod ! ' 
She started, she stopp'd, she turn'd, amazed. 
She stood all wonder with her eyes wild-wide, 
Then turn'd in terror down the dusk wayside, 
And cried as she fled, ' The man is crazed, 
And calls the maiden name of my mother! ' 

" From a scene that saddens, fi-om a ghost that wearies 
From a white isle set in a wall of seas, 
From the kine and clover and all of these 
I shall set my face for the fierce Sierras. 
I shall make me mates on the stormy border, 
I shall beard the grizzly, shall battle again. 
And from mad disorder shall mould me order 
And a wild repose for a weary brain. 

" Let the world turn over, and over, and over, 
And toss and tumble hke a beast in pain, 
Crack, quake, and tremble, and turn full over 
And die, and never rise up again ; 
Let her dash her peaks through the purple cover, 
Let her plash her seas in the face of the sun — 
I have no one to love me now, not one, 



ARIZONIAN. 19 

In a world as fiiU as a world can hold ; 
So I will get gold as I erst have done, 
I will gather a coffin top-full of gold, 
To take to the door of Death, to buy- 
Content, when I double my hands and die. 
There is nothing that is, be it beast or human, 
Love of maiden or the lust of man. 
Curse of man or the kiss of woman, 
For which I care or for which I can 
Give a love for a love or a hate for a hate, 
A curse for a curse or a kiss for a kiss. 
Since life has neither a bane nor a bhss. 
To one that is cheek by jowl with fate; 
For I have lifted and reach'd far over 
To the tree of promise, and have j)luck'd of all 
And ate — ate ashes, and myi-rh, and gall. 
Go down, go down to the fields of clover, 
Down with the kine in the pastures fine, 
And give no thought, or care, or labor 
For maid or man, good name or neighbor ; 
For I have given, and what have I ? — 
Given all my youth, my years, and labor. 
And a love as warm as the world is cold, 
For a beautiful, bright, and delusive lie. 



20 ARIZONIAN, 

Gave youth, gave years, gave love for gold, 

Giving and getting, yet what have I 

But an empty palm and a face forgotten. 

And a hope that's dead, and a heart that's rotten ? 

Red gold on the waters is no part bread. 

But sinks dull-sodden like a lump of lead, 

And returns no more in the face of Heaven. 

So the dark day thickens at the hope defen-'d. 

And the strong heart sickens and the soul is stirr'd 

Like a weary sea when his hands are lifted. 

Imploring peace, with his raiment drifted 

And driven afar and rent and riven. 

" The red ripe stars hang low overhead. 
Let the good and the light of soul reach up, 
Pluck gold as plucking a butter-cup : 
But I am as lead and my hands are red ; 
There is nothing that is that can wake one passion 
In soul or body, or one sense of pleasure. 
No fame or fortune in the world's wide measure. 
Or love full-bosomed or in any fashion. 

" The doubled sea, and the troubled heaven, 
Starr'd and barr'd by the bolts of fire. 



ARIZONIAN. 21 

In storms where stars are riven, and driven 

As clouds through heaven, as a dust blown higher ; 

The angels hurl'd to the realms infernal, 

Down fi'om the walls in unholy wars 

That man misnameth the falling stars ; 

The purple robe of the proud Eternal, 

The Tyi-ian blue with its fringe of gold, 

Shrouding His countenance, fold on fold — 

All are dull and tame as a tale that is told. 

For the loves that hasten and the hates that linger, 

The nights that darken and the days that glisten. 

And men that lie and maidens that listen, 

I care not even the snap of my finger. 

" So the sun climbs up, and on, and over, 
And the days go out and the tides come in. 
And the pale moon rubs on the purple cover 
Till worn as thin and as bright as tin ; 
But the ways are dark and the days are dreary, 
And the dreams of youth are but dust in age. 
And the heart gets harden'd, and the hands grow weary 
Holding them up for their heritage. 

" And the strain'd heart-strings wear bare and brittle, 



22 ARIZONIAN. 

And the fond hope dies when so long defeiT'd ; 
Then the fan- hope lies in the heart interr'd, 
So stiff and cold in its coffin of lead. 
For you promise so great and you gain so little ; 
For you promise so great of glory and gold, 
And gain so little that the hands grow cold ; 
And for gold and glory you gain instead 
A fond heart sicken'd and a fair hope dead. 

" So I have said, and I say it over, 
And can prove it over and over again. 
That the four-footed beasts on the red-crown'd clovei, 
The pied and horned beasts on the plain 
That lie down, rise up, and repose again, 
And do never take care or toil or spin. 
Nor buy, nor build, nor gather in gold. 
Though the days go out and the tides come in. 
Are better than we by a thousand fold ; 
For what is it all, in the words of fire. 
But a vexins: of soul and a vain desire ? " 



WITH WALKER IN NICARAGUA. 



Come to my sun land ! Come laith me 
To the land I love ; where the sun and sea 
Are loed forever : ichere palm and pine 
Arejilled iviih singers ; lohere tree and vine 
Are voiced with prophets ! O come, and you 
Shall sing a song icith the seas that swi7'l 
And kiss their hands to the cold white girl. 
To the maiden moon in her mantle of blue. 



WITH WALI^R IN NICARAGUA, 

I. 

T TE was a brick : let this be said 

Above my brave dishonored dead. 
I ask no more, this is not much, 
Yet I disdain a colder touch 
To memory as dear as his ; 
For he was true as any star, 
And brave as Yuba's grizzlies are. 
Yet gentle as a panther is, 
Mouthing her young in her first fierce kiss ; 
Tall, courtly, grand as any king, 
Yet simple as a child at play, 
In camp and court the same alway. 
And never moved at any thing ; 
A dash of sadness in his air, 
Born, may be, of his over care, 
And, may be, born of a despair 
In early love — I never knew ; 



36 WITH WALKER 

I questioned not, as many do, 

Of things as sacred as this is ; 

I only knew that he to me 

Was all a father, friend, could be ; 

I sousrht to know no more than this 

Of history of him or his. 

A piercing eye, a princely air, 
A presence like a chevalier, 
Half angel and half Lucifer ; 
Fair fingers, jewell'd manifold 
With great gems set in hoops of gold ; 
Sombrero black, with plume of snow 
That swept his long silk locks below ; 
A red serape with bars of gold, 
Heedless falling, fold on fold ; 
A sash of silk, where flashing swung 
A sword as swift as serpent's tongue, 
In sheath of silver chased in gold ; 
A face of blended pride and pain. 
Of mingled pleading and disdain, 
With shades of glory and of grief ; 
And Spanish spurs with bells of steel 
That dash'd and danM'd at the heel — 



IN NICARAGUA. ^^ 

The fjinous filibuster chief 

Stood by his tent 'mid tall brown trees 

That top the fierce Cordilleras, 

With brawn arm arch'd above his brow ; — 

Stood still — he stands, a picture, now — 

Long gazing down the sunset seas. 

n. 

What strange strong bearded men were these 

He led toward the tropic seas ! 

Men sometime of uncommon birth, 

Men rich in histories untold. 

Who boasted not, though more than bold, 

Blown from the four parts of the earth. 

Men mighty-thew'd as Samson was, 

That had been kings in any cause, 

A remnant of the races past ; 

Dark-brow'd as if in iron cast, 

Broad-breasted as twin gates of brass, — 

Men strangely brave and fiercely true, 

Who dared the West when giants were, 

Who err'd, yet bravely dared to err ; 

A remnant of that early few 

Who held no crime or curse or vice 



zH WITH WALKER 

As dark as that of cowardice ; 
With blendings of the worst and best 
Of faults and virtues that have blest 
Or cursed or thrill'd the human breast. 

They rode, a troop of bearded men, 
Rode two and two out from the town, 
And some were bloncle and some were brown 
And all as brave as Sioux ; but wiien 
From San Bennetto south the line 
That bound them in the laws of men 
Was passed, and peace stood mute behind 
And streamed a banner to the wind 
The world knew not, there was a sign 
Of awe, of silence, rear and van. 
Men thought who never thought before ; 
I heard the clang and clash of steel 
From sword at hand or spur at heel 
And iron feet, but nothing more. 
Some thought of Texas, some of Maine, 
But more of rugged Tennessee, — 
Of scenes in Southern vales of ^vine, 
And scenes in Northern hills of pine 
As scenes they might not meet again ; 



IN NICARAGUA. 39 

And one of Avon thought, and one 
Thought of an isle beneath the sun, 
And one of Rowley, one the Rhine, 
And one turned sadly to the Spree. 

Defeat meant something more than death * 
The world was ready, keen to smite, 
As stern and still beneath its ban 
With iron will and bated breath. 
Their hands against their fellow-man. 
They rode — each man an Ishmaelite. 
But when we struck the hills of pine. 
These men dismounted, doffed their cares, 
Talked loud and laughed old love affairs. 
And on the grass took meat and wine. 
And never gave a thought again 
To land or life that lay behind. 
Or love, or care of any kind 
Beyond the present cross or pain. 

And I, a waif of stormy seas, 
A child among such men as these, 
Was blown along this savage surf 
And rested with them on the turf, 



«|0 WITH WALKER 

And took delight below the trees. 
I did not question, did not care 
To know the right or wrong. I saw 
That savage freedom had a spell, 
And loved it more than I can tell, 
And snapped my fingers at the law. 
I bear my burden of the shame, — 
I shun it not, and naught forget. 
However much I may regret : 
I claim some candor to my name, 
And courasre cannot chano-e or die. — 
Did they deserve to die ? they died. 
Let justice then be satisfied, 
And as for me, why what am I ? 



The standing side by side till death, 
The dying for some wounded friend, 
The faith that failed not to the end, 
The strong endurance till the breath 
And body took their ways apart, 
I only know. I keep my trust. 
Their vices ! earth has them by heart. 
Their virtues ! thev are with their dust 



[N NICARAGUA. 31 

How wound we through the soUd wood, 
With all its broad boughs hung in green, 
With lichen-mosses trail' d between ! 
How waked the spotted beasts of prey. 
Deep sleeping from the face of day, 
And dash'd them like a troubled flood 
Down some defile and denser wood ! 

And snakes, long, lithe and beautiful 
As green and graceful-bough'd bamboo, 
Did twist and twine them through and through 
The boughs that hung red-fruited full. 
One, monster-sized, above me hung, 
Close eyed me with his bright pink eyes, 
Then raised his folds, and sway'd and swung, 
And lick'd like lightning his red tongue. 
Then oped his wide mouth with surprise ; 
He writhed and curved, and raised and lower'd 
His folds like liftings of the tide, 
And sank so low I touched his side, 
As I rode by, with my broad sword. 

The trees shook hands high overhead^ 
And bow'd and intertwined across 



52 WITH WALKER 

The narrow way, while leaves and moss 
And luscious fruit, gold-hued and red, 
Through all the canopy of green. 
Let not one sunshaft shoot between. 

Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red, 
Or droop' d in curved lines dreamily, 
Kainbows reversed, from tree to tree. 
Or sang low-hanging overhead — 
Sang low, as if they sang and slept. 
Sang faint, like some far waterfall, 
And took no note of us at all, 
Though nuts that in the way were spread 
Did crush and crackle as we stept. 

Wild lilies, tall as maidens are, 
As sweet of breath, as pearly fair. 
As fair as faith, as pure as truth, 
Fell thick before our every tread, 
As in a sacrifice to ruth. 
And all the air with perfume fill'd 
More sweet than ever man distill'd. 
The ripen'd fruit a fi-agrance shed 
And hung in hand-reach overhead. 



IN NICARAGUA. 33 



In nest of blossoms on the shoot, 
The bendins: shoot that bore the fruit. 



'to 



How ran the monkeys through the leaves ! 
How rush'd they through, brown clad and blue. 
Like shuttles hurried throusch and through 
The threads a hasty weaver weaves I 

How quick they cast us fruits of gold, 
Then loosen'd hand and all foothold. 
And hung limp, Umber, as if dead. 
Hung low and listless overhead ; 
And all the time, with half-oped eyes 
Bent full on us in mute surprise — 
Look'd wisely too, as wise hens do 
That watch you with the head askew. 

The long days through from blossom'd trees 
There came the sweet song of sweet bees. 
With chorus-tones of cockatoo 
That slid his beak along the bough, 
And walk'd and talk'd and hung and swung, 
In crown of gold and coat of blue, 
The wisest fool that ever sung, 
Or had a crown, or held a tongue. 



34 WITH WALKER 

Oh when we broke the sombre wood 
And pierced at last the sunny plain, 
How wild and still with wonder stood 
The proud mustangs with banner'd mane» 
And necks that never knew a rein, 
And nostrils lifted high, and blown, 
Fierce breathing as a hurricane : 
Yet by their leader held the while 
In solid column, square, and file. 
And ranks more martial than our own 1 

Some one above the common kind, 
Some one to look to, lean upon, 
I think is much a woman's mind ; 
But it was mine, and I had drawn 
A rein beside the chief while we 
Rode through the forest leisurely ; 
When he grew kind and questioned me 
Of kindred, home, and home affair. 
Of how I came to wander there. 
And had my father herds and land 
And men in hundi-eds at command ? 
At which I silent shook my head, 
Then, timid, met his eyes and said, 



rN NICARAGUA, 35 

''Not so. Where sunny-foot hills run 
Down to the North Pacific sea, 
And Willamette meets the sun 
In many angles, patiently 
My father tends his flocks of snow, 
And turns alone the mellow sod 
And sows some fields not over broad, 
And mourns ray long delay in vain, 
Nor bids one serve-man come or go ; 
While mother from her wheel or churn, 
And may be fi-om the milking shed, 
There lifts an humble weary head 
To watch and wish for my return 
Across the camas' blossom' d plain." 

He held his bent head very low, 
A sudden sadness in his air ; 
Then turned and touched my yellow hair 
And took the long locks in his hand, 
Toyed with them, smiled, and let them go, 
Then thrummed about his saddle bow 
As thought ran swift across his face ; 
Then turning sudden from his place, 
He gave some short and quick command. 



36 WITH WALKER 

They brought the best steed of the band, 
They swung a bright sword at my side, 
He bade me mount and by him ride, 
And from that hour to the end 
I never felt the need of friend. 



Far in the wildest quinine wood 
We found a city old — so old, 
Its very walls were turn'd to mould, 
And stately trees upon them stood. 
No history has mention'd it, 
No map has given it a place ; 
The last dim trace of tribe and race — 
The world's forgetfulnesss is fit. 

It held one structure grand and moss'd. 
Mighty as any castle sung, 
And old when oldest Ind was young, 
With threshold Christian never cross'd ; 
A temj^le builded to the sun, 
Along whose sombre altar-stone 
Brown bleeding virgins had been strown 
Like leaves, when leaves are crisp and dun, 



IN NICARAGUA, 37 

In ages ere the Sphinx was born, 
Or Babylon had birth or morn. 

My chief led up the marble step — 
He ever led, broad blade in hand — 
When down the stones, with double hand 
Clutch' d to his blade, a savage leapt. 
Hot bent to barter life for life. 
The chieftain drove his bowie kniie 
Full through his thick and broad breast-bone, 
And broke the point against the stone. 
The dark stone of the temple wall. 
I saw him loose his hold and fall 
Full length with head hung down the step ; 
I saw run down a ruddy flood 
Of rushing pulsing human blood. 
Then from the crowd a woman crept 
And kiss'd the gory hands and face. 
And smote herself Then one by one 
The dark crowd crept and did the same. 
Then bore the dead man from the place. 
Down darken'd aisles the brown priests came, 
So picture-like, with sandall'd feet 
And long gray dismal grass-wove gowns, 



^6 WITH WALKER 

So like the pictures of old time, 
And stood all still and dark of frowns, 
At blood upon the stone and street. 
So we laid ready hand to sword 
And boldly spoke some bitter word ; 
But they were stubborn still, and stood 
Dark frowning as a winter wood. 
And mutt'rino; something^ of the crime 
Of blood upon the temple stone, 
As if the first that it had known. 

We turned toward the massive door 
With clash of steel at heel, and with 
Some swords all red and ready drawn. 
I traced the sharp edge of my sword 
Along the marble wall and floor 
For crack or crevice ; there was none. 
From one vast mount of marble stone 
The mighty temjjle had been cored 
By nut-brown children of the sun. 
When stars were newly bright and blithe 
Of song along the rim of dawn, 
A mighty marble monolith I 



IN NICARAGUA, 39 



m. 



Theough marches through the mazy wood, 
And may be through too much of blood. 
At last we came down to the seas. 
A city stood, white-wall'd, and brown 
With age, in nest of orange trees ; 
And this we won, and many a town 
And rancho reaching up and down, 
Then rested in the red-hot days 
Beneath the blossom'd orange trees. 
Made drowsy with the drum of bees. 
And drank in peace the south-sea breeze, 
Made sweet with sweeping boughs of bays. 

Well ! there were maidens, shy at first, 
And then, ere long, not over shy, 
Yet pure of soul and proudly chare.' 
No love on earth has such an eye ! 
No land there is is bless'd or curs'd 
With such a limb or grace of face, 
Or gi'acious form, or genial air ! 
In all the bleak North-land not one 
Hath been so warm of soul to me 



40 WITH WALKER 

As coldest soul by that warm sea, 
Beneath the brio'ht hot centred sun. 

No lands where any ices are 
ApjDroach, or ever dare compare 
With warm loves born beneath the sm^. 
The one the cold white steady star, 
The lifted shiftins: sun the one. 
I grant you fond, I grant you fair, 
I grant you honor, trust and truth. 
And years as beautiful as youth. 
And many years beyond the sun, 
And faith as fix'd as any star ; 
But all the North-land hath not one 
So warm of soul as sun-maids are. 

I was but in my boyhood then, 
I count my fingers over, so, 
And find it years and years ago, 
And I am scarcely yet of men. 
But I was tall and lithe and fair, 
With rippled tide of yellow hair, 
And prone to mellowness of heart ; 
While she was tawny-red like wine, 



IN NICARAGUA. 4' 

With black hair boundless as the night. 

As for the rest I knew my part, 

At least was apt, and willing quite 

To learn, to listen, and ii^cline 

To teacher warm and wi«e as mine. 

O bright, bronzed maia^ns of the sun I 
So fairer far to look upon 
Than curtains of the Solo'i>on, 
Or Kedar's tents, or any ovj^y 
Or any thing beneath the su'x ! 
What follow'd then ? Wha< has been done, 
And said, and wn-it, and read, «.nd sung ? 
What ^\dll be writ and read aga'n, 
While love is life, and life remain "* — 
While maids will heed, and men hay^ tongue H 

What follow'd then ? But let that pass. 
I hold one picture in my heart, 
Hung curtain' d, and not any part 
Of all its dark tint ever has 
Been look'd upon by any one. 
But if, may be, one brave and strong 
As liftings of the bristled sea 



42 WITH WALKER 

Steps forth from out the days to be 
And knocks heart- wise, and enters bold 
A rugged heart inured to wrong — 
As one would storm a strong stronghold - 
Strong-footed, and most passhig fair 
Of truth, and thought beyond her years, 
We two will lift the c]*a])e in tears, 
Will turn the canvas to the sun. 
Will trace the features one by one 
Of my dear dead, in still despair. 

Love well who will, love wise who can, 
But love, be loved, for God is love ; 
Love pure, like cherubim above ; 
Love maids, and hate not any man. 
Sit as sat we by orange tree. 
Beneath the broad bough and grape-vine 
Toi3-tangled in the tropic shine. 
Close face to face, close to the sea. 
And full of the red-centred sun, 
With grand sea-songs upon the soul, 
RoU'd melody on melody. 
Like echoes of deep organ's roll. 
And love, nor question any one. 



TN NICARAGUA, 

If God is love, is love not God ? 
As high priests say, let prophets sing, 
Without reproach or reckoning ; 
This much I say, knees knit to sod. 
And low voice lifted, questioning. 

Let eyes be not dark eyes, but dreams. 
Or drifting clouds with flashing fires. 
Or far delights, or fierce desires. 
Yet not be more than well beseems ; 
Let hearts be pure and strong and true, 
Let lips be luscious and blood-red. 
Let earth in gold be garmented 
And tented in her tent of blue, 
Let goodly rivers glide between 
Their leaning willow walls of green. 
Let all things be fill'd of the sun, 
And full of warm winds of the sea, 
And I beneath my vine and tree 
Take rest, nor war mth any one ; 
Then I will thank God with full cause, 
Say this is well, is as it was. 

Let lips be red, for God has said 



44 WITH WALKER 

Love rs like one gold-garmented, 
And made them so for such a time. 
Therefore let lips be red, therefore 
Let love be ripe in ruddy prime. 
Let hope beat high, let hearts be true, 
And you be wise thereat, and you 
Drink deep, and ask not any more. 

Let red lips lift, proud curl'd, to kiss, 
And round limbs lean and raise and reach 
In love too passionate for speech. 
Too full of blessedness and bliss 
For any thing but this and this ; 
Let luscious lips lean hot to kiss 
And swoon in love, while all the air 
Is redolent with balm of trees. 
And mellow with the song of bees, 
While birds sit singing everywhere — 
And you will have not any more 
Than I in boyhood, by that shore 
Of olives, had in years of yore. 

Let the unclean think things unclean ; 
1 swear tip-toed, with lifted hands, 



iN NICARAGUA. 4^ 

That we were pure as sea-washed sands, 
That not one coarse thought came between ; 
Believe or disbelieve who will, 
Unto the pure all things are pure ; 
As for the rest, I can endure 
Alike their good will or their ill. 

She boasted Montezuma's blood. 
Was pure of soul as Tahoe's flood. 
And strangely fair and princely soul'd, 
And she was rich in blood and gold — 
More rich in love grown over-bold 
From its own consciousness of strength. . 
How warm! Oh, not for any cause 
Could I declare how warm she was, 
In her brown beauty and hair's length. 
We loved in the sufficient sun. 
We lived in elements of fire. 
For love is fire and fierce desu*e ; 
Yet lived as pm-e as priest and nun. 

We lay slow rocking in the bay 
In birch canoe beneath the crags 
Thick, topp'd with palm, like sweeping flags 



46 WITH WALKER 

Between iis and the burning day. 
The red-eyed crocodile lay low 
Or lifted from his rich rank fern, 
And watch'd us and the tide by turn. 
And we slow cradled to and fro. 

And slow we cradled on till night, 
And told the old tale, overtold. 
As misers in recounting gold 
Each time do take a new delight. 
With her pure passion-given grace 
She drew her warm self close to me ; 
And, her two brown hands on my knee^ 
And her two black eyes in my face, 
She then grew sad and guess'd at ill. 
And in the future seem'd to see 
With woman's ken of prophecy ; 
Yet proffer'd her devotion still. 
And plaintive so, she gave a sign, 
A token cut of virgin gold. 
That all her tribe should ever hold 
Its wearer as some one divine, 
Nor touch him with a hostile hand. 
And I in turn gave her a blade. 



IN NICARAGUA. 47 

A dagger, worn as well by maid 

As man, in that half-lawless land ; 

It had a massive silver hilt, 

Had a most keen and cunning blade, 

A gift by chief and comrades made 

For reckless blood at Rivas spilt. 

" Show this," said I, " too well 'tis known. 

And worth an hundred lifted spears, 

Should ill beset your sunny years ; 

There is not one in Walker's band. 

But at the sight of this alone. 

Will reach a brave and ready hand, 

And make your right or wrong his own." 



IV. 

* Id * * * 

Love while 'tis day ; night cometh soon, 
Wherein no man or maiden may ; 
Love in the strong young prime of day ; 
Drink drunk Avith love in ripe red noon. 
Red noon of love and life and sun ; 
Walk in love's light as in sunshine, 
Drink in that sun as drinking wine, 



^ WITH WALKER 

Drink swill, nor question any one ; 
For loves change sure as man or moon, 
And wane like warm full days of June. 

O Love, so fair of promises, 
Bend here thy brow, blow here thy kiss, 
Bend here thy bow above the storm 
But once, if only this once more. 
Comes there no patient Christ to save, 
Touch and re-animate thy form 
Long three days dead and in the grave ? 
Spread here thy silken net of jet ; 
Since man is felse, since maids forget, 
Since man must fell for his sharj? sin. 
Be thou the pit that I fall in ; 
I seek no safer fall than this. 
Since man must die for some dark sin. 
Blind leading blind, let come to this. 
And my death-crime be one deep kiss. 
Lo ! I have found another land, 
May I not find another love, 
True, trusting as a bosom'd dove. 
To lay its whole heart in my hand ? 
But lips that leap and cling and crush, 



[N NICARAGUA. 49 

And limbs that twist and intertwine 

With passion as a passion-A'ine, 

And veins that throb and swell and rush — 

Be ye forbidden fruit and wine. 

Such passion is not fair or fit 

Or fashion'd tall — touch none of it. 

* if ^ m * 

• * • * * 

111 comes disguised in many forms : 
Fair winds are but a prophecy 
Of foulest winds full soon to be — 
The brighter these, the blacker they ; 
The clearest night has darkest day, 
And brightest days bring blackest storms.. 
There came reverses to our arms ; 
I saw the signal-light's alarms 
At night red-crescenting the bay. 
The foe pour'd down a flood next day 
As strong as tides when tides are high, 
And drove us bleeding in the sea, 
In such wild haste of flight that we 
Had hardly time to arm and fly. 

Blown from the shore, borne far a-sea, 
4 



50 WITH WALKER 

I liftiid my two hands on high 
With wild soul plashing to the sky, 
And ciied, " O more than crowns to me 
Farewell at last to love and thee ! ** 
I walk'd the deck, I kiss'd my hand 
Back to the far and fading shore, 
And bent a knee as to implore, 
Until the last dark head of land 
Slid down behind the dimpled sea. 
At last I sank in troubled sleep, 
A very child, rock'd by the deep, 
Sad questioning the fate of her 
Before the savage conqueror. 

The loss of comrades, power, place, 
A city wall'd, cool shaded ways. 
Cost me no care at all ; somehow 
I only saw her sad brown face. 
And — I was younger then than now. 

Red flash'd the sun across the deck. 
Slow flapp'd the idle sails, and slow 
The black ship cradled to and fro. 
Afar my city lay, a speck 



/TV NICARAGUA, 51 

Of white against a line of blue ; 
Around, half lounging on the deck, 
Some comrades chatted two by two. 
I held a new-fill'd glass of wine, 
And with the mate talk'd as in play 
Of fierce events of yesterday, 
To coax his light life into mine. 

He jerk'd the wheel, as slow he said, 
Low laughing with averted head, 
And so, half sad : " You bet they '11 fight ; 
They follow'd in canim, canoe, 
A perfect fleet, that on the blue 
Lay dancing till the raid of night. 
Would you believe ! one little cuss — 
(He turn'd his stout head slow side wise. 
And 'neath his hat-rim took the skies) — 
" In petticoats did follow us 
The livelong niglit, and at the dawn 
Her boat lay rocking in the lee. 
Scarce one short pistol-shot from me." 
This said the mate, half mournfully. 
Then peck'd at us ; for he had drawn, 
By bright light heart and homely wit. 



IJ2 WITH WALKER 

A knot of us around the wheel, 
Which he stood whirling like a reel, 
For the still ship reck'd not of it. 

" And where 's she now ? " one careless said, 
With eyes slow lifting to the brine, 
Swift swept the instant far by mine ; 
The bronzed mate listed, shook his head, 
Spu'ted a stream of amber wide 
Across and over the ship side, 
Jerk'd at the wheel, and slow replied : 

" She had a dagger in her hand, 
She rose, she raised it, tried to stand. 
But fell, and so upset herself; 
Yet still the poor brown savage elf. 
Each time the long light wave would toss 
And hft her form from out the sea, 
Would shake a strange bright blade at ine 
With rich hilt chased a cunning cross. 
A.\ last she sank, but still the same 
She shook her dagger in the air. 
As if to still defy and dare, 
And sinking seem'd to call your name." 



I 



IN NICARAGUA, ^ 

1 clash'd my wine against the wall, 
I rush'd across the deck, and all 
The sea I swept and swept again, 
With lifted hand, with eye and glass, 
But all was idle and in vain. 
I saw a red-bill'd sea-gull pass, 
A petrel sweeping round and round, 
I heard the far wliite sea-sui"f sound, 
But no sign could I hear or see 
Of one so more than seas to me. 

T cursed the ship, the sliore, the sea. 
The brave brown mate, the bearded men ; 
T had a fever then, and then 
Ship, shore and sea were one to me ; 
And weeks we on the dead waves lay, 
And I more truly dead jihan they. 
At last some rested on an isle ; 
The few strong-breasted ^vith a smile 
Returning to the sunny shore. 
Scarce counting of the pain or cost, 
Scarce recking if they won or lost ; 
They sought but action, ask'd no more ; 
They counted lile but as a game, 



$4 WITH WALKER 

"With full per cent against them, and 
Staked all upon a single hand, 
And lost or won, content the same. 

1 never saw my chief again, 
I never sought again the shore, 
Or saw my white-wall'd city more. 
I could not bear the more than jDain 
At sight of blossom'd orange trees 
Or blended song of bu'ds and bees, 
The sweeping shadows of the palm 
Or spicy breath of bay and balm. 
And, striving to forget the while, 
I wander'd through the dreary isle. 
Here black with juniper, and there 
Made white with goats in summer coats, 
The only things that anywhere 
We found with life in all the land. 
Save birds that ran long-bill'd and brown, 
Long-legg'd and still as shadows are, 
Like dancing shadows, up and down 
The sea-rim on the swelt'rins: sand. 



o 



The warm sea laid his dimpled face, 



IN NICARAGUA. 55 

With every white hair smoothed iu place, 

As if asleep against the land ; 

Great turtles slept upon his breast, 

As thick as eggs in any nest ; 

I could have touched them with my hand. 



I would some things were dead and hid. 
Well dead and buried deep as hell, 
With recollection dead as well, 
And resurrection God-forbid. 
They irk me with their weary spell 
Of fascination, eye to eye, 
And hot mesmeric serpent hiss. 
Through all the dull eternal days. 
Let them turn by, go on their ways, 
Let them depart or let me die ; 
For life is but a beggar's lie, 
And as for death, I grin at it ; 
I do not care one whiff or whit 
VVliether it be or that or this. 

I give my hand ; the world i,s wide ; 
Then farewell memories of yore. 



WITH WALKER 

Between ns let strife be no more ; 

Turn as you choose to either side ; 

Say, Fare-you-well, shake hands and say — 

Speak loud, and say with stately grace, 

Hand clutching hand, face bent to face — 

Farewell for ever and a day. 

O passion-toss'd and bleeding past, 
Part now, part well, part wide apart. 
As ever ships on ocean slid 
Down, down the sea, hull, sail, and mast; 
And in the album of my heart 
Let hide the pictures of your face, 
With other pictures in their place, 
Slid over like a coffin's lid. 

* * * * * 

* * « all * 

The days and grass grow long together ; 
They now fell short and crisp again. 
And all the fair face of the main 
Grew dark and wrinkled at the weather. 
Through all the summer sun's decline 
Fell news of triumphs and defeats, 



IN NICARAGUA. 57 

Of hard advances, hot retreats — 
Then days and days and not a line. 

At last one night they came. I knew 
Ere yet the boat had touch'd the land 
That all was lost : they were so few 
I near could count them on one hand ; 
But he the leader led no more. 
The proud chief still disdain'd to fly, 
But, like one wreck'd, clung to the shore, 
And struggled on, and struggling fell 
From power to a prison-cell, 
And only left that cell to die. 



My recollection, like a ghost, 
Goes from this sea to that sea-side, 
Goes and returns as turns the tide. 
Then turns again unto the coast. 
I know not which I mourn the most, 
My brother or my virgin bride, 
My chief or my unwedded wife. 
The one was as the lordly sun, 
To joy in, bask in, and admu-e ; 



;& WITH WALKER 

The peaceful moon was as the one, 
To love, to look to, and desire ; 
And both a part of my young life. 



Years after, shelter'd from the sun 
Beneath a Sacramento bay, 
A black Muchacho by me lay 
Along the long grass crisp and dun. 
His brown mule browsing by his side, 
And told with all a Peon's pride 
How he once fought, how long and well, 
Broad breast to breast, red hand to hand. 
Against a foe for his fair land. 
And how the fierce invader fell ; 
And artless told me how he died. 

To die with hand and brow unbound 
He gave his gems and jewell'd sword ; 
Thus at the last the warrior found 
Some freedom for his steel's reward. 
He walk'd out from the prison-wall 
Dress'd like a prince for a parade. 
And made no note of man or maid, 



IN NICARAGUA. 59 

But gazed out calmly over all ; 

Then look'd aflxr, half j^aused, and then 

Above the mottled sea of men 

lie kiss'd his thin hand to the sun ; 

Then smiled so proudly none had known 

But he was stepping to a throne, 

Yet took no note of any one. 

A nude brown beggar Peon child, 

Encouraged as the captive smiled, 

Look'd up, half scared, half pitying ; 

He stoop' d, he caught it from the sands, 

Put bright coins in its two brown hands, 

Then strode on like another king. 

Two deep, a musket's length, they stood, 
A-front, in sandals, nude, and dun 
As death and darkness wove in one. 
Their thick lips thirsting for his blood. 
He took their black hands one by one, 
And, smiling with a patient grace. 
Forgave them all and took his place. 
He bared liis broad brow to the sun. 
Gave one long last look to the sky. 
The white- wing'd clouds that hurried by, 



6o WITH WALKER 

The olive hills in orange hue ; 

A last list to the cockatoo ^ 

That hung by beak fi-om cocoa-bough 

Hard by, and hung and sung as though 

He never was to sing again, 

Hung all red-crown'd and robed in green, 

With belts of gold and blue between. — 

A bow, a touch of heart, a pall 
Of purple smoke, a crash, a thud, 
A warrior's raiment rent, and blood, 
A face in dust and — that was all. 

Success had made him more than king; 
Defeat made him the vilest thine: 
In name, contempt or hate can bring : 
So much the leaded dice of war 
Do make or mar of character. 

Speak ill who will of him, he died 
In all disgrace ; say of the dead 
His heart was black, his hands were red — 
Say this much, and be satisfied ; 
Gloat over it all undenied. 



IN NICARAGUA, 6l 

I only say that lie to me, 

Whatever he to others was. 

Was truer far than any one 

That I have known beneath the sun, 

Sinner, saint, or Pharisee, 

As boy or man, for any cause ; 

I simply say he was my friend 

When strong of hand and f:iir of fame: 

Dead and disgi-aeed, I stand the same 

To him, and so shall to the end. 

I lay this crude wreath on his dust, 
Inwove with sad, sweet memories 
Recall'd here by these colder seas, 
I leave the wild bird with his trust, 
To sing and say him nothing wrong; 
I wake no rivalry of song. 

He lies low in the levell'd sand, 
XJnshelter'd fi-om tlie tropic sun. 
And now of all he knew not one 
Will speak him fair in that far land. 
Perhaps 'twas this that made me seek. 
Disguised, his grave one wintei-tide ; 



62 IVITH WALKER 

A weakness for the weaker side, 
A siding with the helpless weak. 

A palm not far held out a hand, 
Hard by a long green bamboo swung, 
And bent like some great bow unstrung. 
And quiver'd like a willow wand ; 
Beneath a broad banana's leaf, 
Perch'd on its fruits that crooked hang, 
A bird in rainbow splendor sang 
A low sad song of temper'd grief. 

N'o sod, no sign, no cross nor stone, 
But at his side a cactus green 
Upheld its lances long and keen ; 
It stood in hot red sands alone, 
Flat-palm'd and fierce with lifted spears ; 
One bloom of crimson crown'd its head, 
A drop of blood, so bright, so red. 
Yet redolent as roses' tears. 
In my left hand I held a shell. 
All rosy lipp'd and pearly red ; 
I laid it by his lowly bed, 
For he did love so passing well 



IN NICARAGUA. 63 

The grand songs of the solemn sea. 

shell ! sing well, wild, with a will, 
When storms blow loud and birds be still. 
The wildest sea-song known to thee ! 

I said some things, with folded hands, 
Soft wliisper'd in the dim sea-sound, 
And eyes held humbly to the ground, 
And frail knees sunken in the sands. 
He had done more than this for me. 
And yet I could not well do more : 

1 turned me down the olive snore, 
And set a sad face to the sea. 

fjondon, 1871 



CALIFORNIAN. 



Glintings of a ay in the darkness. 

Flashings of Jiint and of steely 

Blended in gossamer texture 

The ideal ana tne reai, 

Limn\l like the phantom-ship shadoiv^ 

Crowding up wider the keel. 



CALIFOKNIAN. 

I. 

T STAND beside the mobile sea ; 

And sails are spread, and sails are iiirl'd 
From farthest corners of the world, 
And fold like white wings wearily. 
Steamships go up, and some go down 
In haste, like traders in a town. 
And seem to see and beckon all. 
Afar at sea some white shapes flee, 
With arms stretch'd like a ghost's to me, 
And cloud-like sails far blown and curl'd, 
Then glide down to the under-world. 
As if blown bare in winter blasts 
Of leaf and limb, tall naked masts 
Are rising fi'om the restless sea, 
So still and desolate and tall, 
I seem to see them gleam and shine 
With clinging drops of dripping brine. 



68 CALIFORNIAN. 

Broad still brown A\dngs flit here and there. 
Thin sea-blue wings wheel everywhere, 
And white wings whistle through the air • 
I hear a thousand sea-gulls call. 

Behold the ocean on the beach 
Kneel lowly down as it in j^rayer. 
I hear a moan as of despah*, 
While far at sea do toss and reach 
Some things so like white pleading hands. 
The ocean's thin and hoary hair 
Is trail' d along the silver'd sands, 
At every sigh and sounding moan 
'Tis not a place for mirthfulness, 
But meditation deep, and prayer. 
And kneelings on the salted sod, 
Where man must own his littleness 
And know the mightiness of God. 
The very birds shriek in distress 
And sound the ocean's monotone. 

Dared I but say a prophecy, 
As sang the holy men of old, 
Of rock-built cities yet to be 



i 

1 



CAJLIFORNIAN. 

Along these shining shores of gold, 
Crowding athirst into the sea, 
What wondrous marvels might be told ! 
Enough, to know that empire here 
Shall burn her loftiest, brightest star ; 
Here art and eloquence shall reign. 
As o'er the wolf-rear'd realm of old ; 
Here learn'd and famous from afar. 
To pay their noble court, shall come. 
And shall not seek or see in vain, 
But look on all with wonder dumb. 

Afar the bright Sierras lie 
A swaying line of snowy wliite, 
A fringe of heaven hung in sight 
Against the blue base of the sky. 

I look along each gaping gorge, 
I hear a thousand sounding strokes 
Like giants rending giant oaks. 
Or brawny Vulcan at his forge ; 
I see pick-axes flash and shine 
And great wheels whirling in a mine. 
Here mnds a thick and yellow thread, 



70 CAI.JFORNIAN. 

A moss'd and silver stream instead 



And trout that leap'd its rippled tide 
Have turn'd upon their sides and died. 

Lo ! when the last pick in the mine 
Is rusting red with idleness, 
And rot yon cabins in the mould, 
And wheels no more croak in distress, 
And tall pines reassert command, 
Sweet bards along this sunset shore 
Their mellow melodies will pour ; 
Will charm as charmers very wise. 
Will strike the harp with master hand. 
Will sound unto the vaulted skies 
The valor of these men of old — 
The mighty men of 'Forty-nine ; 
Will sweetly sing and proudly say, 
Long, long agone there was a day 
When there were giants in the land. 

n. 

CuRAMBo ! what a cloud of dust 
Comes dashing down like driA'en gust! 



CALIFORNIAN 73 

And who rides rushing on the sight 
Adowu yon rocky long defile, 
Swift as an eagle in his flight, 
Fierce as a winter's storm at nio-ht 
Blown from the bleak Sierra's height, 
Careering down some yawning gorge ? 
His face is flush'd, his eye is wild, 
And 'neath his courser's sounding feet 
(A glance could barely be more fleet) 
The rocks are flashing like a forge. 
Such reckless rider ! — I do ween 
No mortal man his like has seen. 
And yet, but for his long serape 
All flowing loose, and black as crape, 
And long silk locks of blackest hair 
All streaming wildly in the breeze. 
You might believe him in a chair, 
Or chatting at some country fair 
With friend or senorita rare. 
He rides so grandly at his ease. 

But now he grasps a tighter rein, 
A red rein wrought in golden chain, 
And in his tapidaros stands. 



72 CALIFORNIAN. 

Half tui-ns and shakes two bloody hands, 

And shouts defiance at his foe ; 

Now lifts his broad hat from his brow 

As if to challenge fate, and now 

His hand drops to his saddle-bow 

And clutches somethina: sfleaminaj there 

As if to something more than dare, 

While halts the foe that follow'd fast 

As rushing wave or raving blast. 

More sudden-swift than though were prest 

All bridle-bands at one behest. 

The stray winds lift the raven curls, 
Soft as a fiir Castilian girl's, 
And press a brow so full and high 
Its every feature does belie 
The thought he is compell'd to fly; 
A brow as open as the sky 
On which you gaze and gaze again 
As on a picture you have seen 
And often sought to see in vain. 
That seems to hold a tale of woe 
Or wonder, that you fain would know ; 
A brow cut deep as with a knife, 



CALIFORNIAN. ^J 

With many a dubious deed in life ; 
A brow of blended pride and pain, 
And yearnings for what should have been. 

He grasps his gilded gory rein, 
And wheeling like a hurricane, 
Defying wood, or stone, or flood. 
Is dashing down the gorge again. 
Oh never yet has prouder steed 
Borne master nobler in his need I 
There is a glory in his eye 
That seems to dare and to defy 
Pursuit, or time, or space, or race. 
His body is the tyj^e of speed. 
While from his nostril to his heel 
Are muscles as if made of steel. 
He is not black, nor gray, nor white, 
But 'neath that broad serape of night 
And locks of darkness streaming o'er, 
His sleek sides seem a fiery red — 
They may be red with gushing gore. 

What crimes have made that red hand red ? 
What wrongs have written that young face 



74 CALIFORNIAN. . 

With lines of thought so out of place ? 

Where flies he ? And fi'om whence has fled If 

And what his lineage and race ? 

What glitters in his heavy belt, 

And fi'om his furr'd catenas 2:leam ? 

What on his bosom that doth seem 

A diamond bright or dagger's hilt ? 

The iron hoofs that still resound 

Like thunder fi-om the yielding ground 

Alone reply ; and now the plain, 

Quick as you breathe and gaze again. 

Is won, and all pursuit is vain. 



in. 

I STAND upon a stony rim. 
Stone-paved and pattera'd as a street \ 
A rock-li]3p'd canon plunging south. 
As if it were earth's open'd mouth. 
Yawns deep and darkling at my feet \ 
So deep, so distant, and so dim 
Its waters wind, a yellow thread, 
And call so faintly and so far, 
I turn aside my swooning head. 



CALIFORNIAN. 75 

I feel a fierce impulse to leap 
Adown the beetling precipice, 
Like some lone, lost, uncertain star \ 
To plunge into a j^lace unknown, 
And win a world all, all my own ; 
Or if I might not meet that bliss, 
At least escape the curse of this. 

I gaze again. A gleaming star 
Shines back as from some mossy well 
Reflected from blue fields afar. 
Brown hawks are wheeling here and there, 
And up and down the broken wall 
Cling clumps of dark gi-een chaparral, 
While from the rent rocks, gray and bare, 
Blue junipers hang in the air. 

Here, cedars sweep the stream, and here, 
Among the boulders moss'd and brown 
That time and storms have toppled down 
From towers undefiled by man, 
Low cabins nestle as in fear, 
And look no taller than a span. 
From low and shapeless chimneys rise 



76 CALIFORNIA A. 

Some tall straight columns of blue smoke. 
And weld them to the bluer skies ; 
While sounding down the sombre gorge 
I hear the steady pick-axe stroke, 
As if uj^on a flashing forge. 

Another scene, another sound ! — 
Sharj^ shots are fretting through the air, 
Red knives are flashing everywhere, 
And here and there the yellow flood 
Is purpled with warm smoking blood. 
The brown hawk swoops low to the ground, 
And nimble chip-monks, small and still, 
Dart striped lines across the sill 
That lordly feet shall press no more. 
The flume lies warping in the sun, 
The pan sits empty by the door. 
The j^ick-axe on its bed-rock floor 
Lies rusting in the silent mine. 
There comes no simple sound nor si2:n 
Of life, beside yon monks in brown 
That dart their dim shapes up and down 
The rocks that swelter in the sun ; 
But dashing round yon rocky spcr 



CA LIFORNIA N. Tl 

Where scarce a hawk would dare to whirr, ' 

Fly horsemen reckless in theu' flight. 
One wears a flowing black capote, 
While down the cape doth flow and float 
Long locks of hair as dark as night, 
And hands are red that erst were white. 

All up and down the land to-day 
Black desolation and despair 
It seeras have sat and settled there, 
With none to frigliten them away. 
Like sentries watching by the way 
Black chimneys topple in the air, 
And seem to say, Go back, beAvare ! 
While up around the mountain's rim 
Are clouds of smoke, so still and grim 
They look as they are fasten'd there. 

A lonely stillness, so like death. 
So touches, terrifies all things. 
That even rooks that fly overhead 
Are hush VI, and seem to hold their breath, 
To fly with muffled wings. 
And heavy as if made of lead. 



•^S CAUFORNIAN. 

Some skulls that crumble to the touch, 

Some joints of thin and chalk-like bone, 

A tall black chiiAney, all alone, 

That leans as if upon a crutch. 

Alone are left to mark or tell, 

Instead of cross or cryptic stone. 

Where fair maids loved or brave men felL 



I look along the valley's edge, 
Where swings the white road like a swell 
Of surf, along a sea of hedge 
And black and brittle chaparral, 
And enters like an iron wedge 
Drove in the mountain dun and brown, 
As if to split the hills in twain. 
Two clouds of dust roll o'er the plain. 
And men ride up and men ride down, 
And hot men halt, and curse and shout. 
And coming coursers plunge and neigh. 
The clouds of dust are roU'd in one — 
And horses, horsemen, where are they ? 
Lo ! through a rift of dust and dun, 
Of desolation and of rout. 



CALIFORNIAN. 79 

I see some long white daggers flash, 
I hear the sharp hot pistols crash, 
And curses loud in mad despair 
Are blended with a plaintive prayer 
That struggles through the dust and air 



The cloud is liftino; like a veil : 
The frantic curse, the plaintive wail 
Have died away ; nor sound nor word 
Along the dusty plain is heard 
Save sounding of yon courser's feet, 
Who flies so fearfully and fleet. 
With gory girth and broken rein, 
Across the hot and trackless plain. 
Behold him, as he trembling flies. 
Look back with red and bursting eyes 
To where his gory master lies. 
The cloud is lifting like a veil, 
But underneath its drifting sail 
I see a loose and black capote 
In careless heed far fly and float. 
So vulture-like above a steed 
Of perfect mould and passing speed. 



go CALIFORNIAN. 

Here lies a man of giant mould, 
His mighty right arm, perfect bare 
Save but its sable coat of hair, 
Is clutching in its iron clasp 
A clump of sage, as if to hold 
The earth from slipping from his grasp ; 
While, stealing fi-om his brow, a stain 
Of purple blood and gory brain 
Yields to the parch'd lips of the plain, 
Swift to resolve to dust again. 

Lo ! friend and foe blend here and there 
With dusty lips and trailing hair : 
Some with a cold and sullen stare. 
Some with their i-ed hands clasp'd in prayer 

Here lies a youth, whose fair face is 
Still holy from a mother's kiss. 
With brow as white as alabaster, 
Save a tell-tale powder-stain 
Of a deed and a disaster 
That mil never come again, 
With theu' perils and their pain. 

The tinkle of bells on the bended hills, 



CALIFORNIAN. %^ 

The hum of bees in the orange trees, 
And the lowly call of the beaded rills 
Are heard in tlie land as I look again 
Over the peaceful battle-plain. 
Murderous man fi-om the field has fled, 
Fled in fear from the face of liis dead. 
He battled, he bled, he ruled a day — 
And peaceful Nature resumes her sway. 
And the sward where yonder corses lie. 
When the verdant season shall come again^ 
Shall greener grow than it grew before ; 
Shall again in sun-clime glory vie 
With the gayest gi*een in the tropic scene, 
Taking its freshness back once more 
From them that despoil'd it yesterday. 



IV. 

The sun is red and flush'd and dry, 
And fretted from his weary beat 
Across the hot and desert sky. 
And swollen as from overheat. 
And failing too ; for see, he sinks 
Swift as a ball of burnish'd ore : 
6 



89 CALIFORNIAN. 

It may be fancy, but methinks 
He never fell so fast before. 

I hear the neighing of hot steeds, 
I see the marshalling of men 
That silent move among the trees 
As busily as swarming bees 
With step and stealthiness profound. 
On carpetings of spindled weeds, 
Without a syllable or sound 
Save clashing of their burnish'd arms, 
Clinking dull death-like alarms — 
Grim bearded men and brawny meu 
That grope among the ghostly trees. 
Were ever silent men as these ? 
Was ever sombre forest deep 
And dark as this ? Here one might sleep 
While all the weary years went round, 
Nor wake nor weep for sun or sound. 

A stone's-throw to the right, a rock 
Has rear'd his head among the stars — 
An island in the ujjper deep — 
And on his front a thousand scars 



CALIFORNIAN. 83 

Of thunder's crash and earthquake's shock 
Are seam'd as if by sabre's sweep 
Of gods, enraged that he should rear 
His froc \ amid their realms of air. 

What moves along his beetling brow, 
So small, so indistinct and far, 
This side yon blazing evening star. 
Seen through that redwood's shifting bough ? 
A lookout on the world below ? 
A watcher for the friend — or foe ? 
This still troop's sentry it must be, 
Yet seems no taller than my knee. 

But f6r the grandeur of this gloom, 
And for the chafing steeds' alarms. 
And brown men's sullen clash of arms. 
This were but as a living tomb. 
These weeds are spindled, pale and white^ 
As if nor sunshine, Ufe nor light 
Had ever reach'd this forest's heart. 
Above, the redwood boughs entwine 
As dense as copse of tangled vine — 
Above, so fearfully afar, 



#4 CALIFORNIA N. 

It seems as 'twere a lesser sky, 
A sky without a moon or star, 
The moss'd boughs are so thick and high. 
At every lisp of leaf I start ! 
Would I could hear a cricket trill, 
Or that yon sentry from his hill 
Might shout or show some sign of life, 
The place does seem so deathly still. 
*' Mount ye, and forward for the strife ! " 
Who by yon dark trunk sullen stands, 
With black serape and bloody hands, 
And coldly gives his brief commands ? 

They mount — away ! Quick on his heel 
He turns, and grasps his gleaming steel — 
Then sadly smiles, and stoops to kiss 
An upturn'd fice so sweetly fair, 
So sadly, saintly, purely fair. 
So rich of blessedness and bliss ! 
I know she is not llesh and blood. 
But some sweet spirit of this wood ; 
I know it by her wealth of hair, 
And step on the unyielding air ; 
Her seamless robe of shining whito, 



CALIFORNIAN, 8^5 

Her soul-deep eyes of darkest night : 
But over all and more than all 
That could be said or can befall, 
That tongue can tell or pen can trac€^ 
That wondrous witchery of face. 

Between the trees I see him stride 
To where a red steed fretting stands 
Impatient for his lord's commands : 
And she glides noiseless at his side. 

Lo ! not a bud, or leaf, or stem, 
Beneath her feet is bowed or bent ; 
They only nod, as if in sleep. 
And all their grace and freshness keep ; 
And now will in their beauty bloom. 
In pink and pearl habiliment. 
As though fresh risen from a tomb. 
For fairest sun has shone on them. 

" The world is mantling black again ! 
Beneath us, o'er the sleeping plain, 
Dull steel-gray clouds slide up and down 
As if the still earth wore a frown. 
The west is red with sunlight slain I" 



86 CALIFORNIAN. 

(One hand toys wdth her waving hair. 
Soft lifting from her shoulders bare ; 
The other holds the loosen'd rein, 
And rests upon the swelling mane 
That curls the curved neck o'er and o'er. 
Like waves that swirl alonsj the shore. 
He hears the last retreating sound 
Of iron on volcanic stone, 
That echoes far from peak to plain, 
And 'neath the dense wood's sable zone 
He peers the dark Sierras down.) 
" But darker yet shall be the frown, 
And redder yet shall be the flame. 
And yet I would that this were not — 
That all, forgiven or forgot 
Of curses deej) and awful crimes. 
Of blood and terror, could but seem 
Some troubled and unholy dream ; 
That even now I could awake. 
And wakino; find me once as^ain 
With hand and heart without a stain, 
Swift gliding o'er that sunny lake. 
Begirt with town and castle- wall. 
Where first I saw the silver licrht — 



CALIFORNIAN, S*? 

Begirt with blossoms, and the bloom 
Of orange, sweet with the perfume 
Of cactus, pomegranate, and all 
The thousand sweets of tropic climes ; 
And, waking, see the mellow moon 
Pour'd out in gorgeous j^lenilune 
On silrer ripples of that tide ; 
And, waking, hear soft music pour 
Along that flora-formed shore ; 
And, waking, find you at my side, 
My father's moss'd and massive halls, 
My brothers in theii* strength and pride.* 



(His hand forsakes her raven hair, 
His eyes have an unearthly glare : 
She shrinks and shudders at his side, 
Then lifts to his her moisten'd eye. 
And only looks her sad reply. 
A suUenness his soul enthrals, 
A silence born of hate and pride ; 
His fierce volcanic heart so deep 
Is stin-'d, his teeth, despite his will. 
Do chatter as if in a chill ; 



CALIFORNIAN. 

His very dagger at his side 
Does shake and rattle in its sheath. 
As blades of brown grass in a gale 
Do rustle on the frosted heath : 
And yet he does not bend or weep.) 

" I did not vow a girlish vow, 
J^or idle imj^recation noAV 
Will I bestow by boasting word — 
Feats of the tongue become the knave, 
A wailing in the land is heard 
For those that will not come again ; 
And weeping for the rashly brave, 
Who sleejD in many a gulch and glen, 
Has wet a hundred hearths with tears, 
And darken'd them for years and years. 
Would I could turn their tears to gore, 
Make every hearth as cold as one 
Is now upon that sweet lake shore, 
Where my dear kindred dwelt of yore ; 
Where now is but an ashen heap, 
And mass of mossy earth and stone ; 
Where round an altar black wolves keep 
Their carnival and doleful moan ; 



CALIFORNIAN. ^ 

Where horned lizards dart and climb, 
And mollusks slide and leave their slime. 

" But tremble not. This night, my ownj 
Shall see my fierce foe overthrown ; 
And ere the day-star gleams again 
My horse's hoofs shall spurn the dead — 
The still warm reeking dead of those 
Who brought us all our bitter woes ; 
While all my glad returning way 
Shall be as light as living day, 
From ranchos, campos, burning red. 
And then ! And then, my peri 23earl "" — 
(As if to charm her from her fears 
And drive away the starting tears, 
Again his small hand seeks a curl. 
And voice forgets its sullen ire. 
And eye forsakes its flashing fire) — 
" Away to where the orange tree 
Is white through all the cycled years, 
And love lives an eternity ; 
Where birds are never out of tune 
And life knows no decline of noon ; 
Where winds are sweet as woman's breath, 



go CALIFORNIAN. 

And purpled, dreamy, mellow skies 
Are lovely as a woman's eyes, — 
There, we in calm and perfect bliss 
Of boundless faith and sweet delight 
Shall realize the world above, 
Forgetting all the wrongs of this, 
Forgetting all of blood and death, 
And all your terrors of to-night, 
In pure devotion and deep love." 

As gently as a mother bows 
Her first-born sleeping babe above. 
The cherish'd cherub lips to kiss 
In her full blessedness and bliss. 
He bends to her with stately air, 
His proud head in its cloud of hair. 
I do not heed the hallo w'd kiss ; 
I do not hear the hurried vows 
Of passion, faith, unfailing love ; 
I do not mark the prison'd sigh, 
I do not meet the moisten'd eye : 
A low sweet melody is heard 
Like cooing of some Balize bird, 
Sc fine it does not touch the air, 



CALIFORNIAN. qi 

So faint it stirs not anywhere ; 
Faint as tlie falling of the dew, 
Low as a pure unutterVl prayer, 
The meeting, mingling, as it were, 
Of souls in paradisal bliss. 

Erect, again he grasps the rem 
So tight, as to the seat he springs, 
I see his red steed plunge and poise 
And beat the air with iron feet. 
And curve his noble glossy neck, 
And toss on high his swelling mane, 
And leap — away ! he spurns the rein, 
And flies so fearfully and fleet. 
But for the hot hoofs' ringing noise 
'Twould seem as if he were on wings. 

And she is gone ! Gone Uke a breath 
Gone like a white sail seen at night 
A moment, and then lost to sight ; 
Gone like a star you look upon. 
That glimmers to a bead, a speck, 
Then softly melts into the dawn, 
And all is still and dark as death. 



08 CALIFORNIAN. 



T. 



I LOOK far down a dewy vale, 
Where cool palms lean along a brook 
As crooked as a shepherd's crook. 
Red parrots call from orange trees, 
Where white lips kiss the idle breeze, 
And murmur with the hum of bees : 
The gray dove coos his low love-tale. 

With cross outstretch'd like pleading hands 
That mutely plead the faith of Christ, 
Amid the palms a low church stands : 
I would that man might learn from these 
The priceless victories of Peace, 
And woo her 'mid these olive trees. 
And win an earthly paradise. 

I see black clouds of troops afar 
Sweep like a surge that sweeps the shore, 
And check'ring all the green hills o'er 
Are battlements and signs of war. 



CALIFORNIAN. 93 

I hear the hoarse-voiced cannon roar : 
The red-mouth'd orators of war 
Plead as they never plead before ; 
While outdone thunder stops his car 
And leans in wondennent afar. 

A fi-agment fi-om the struggle rent 
Forsakes the rugged battlement, 
And winds it painfully and slow 
Across the rent and riven lands 
To where a gray church open stands, 
As if it bore a load of woe. 

Curambo ! 'tis a chief they bear ! 
And by his black and flowing hair 
Methinks I have seen him before. 
A gray priest guides them through the door 
They lay him bleeding on the floor. 

He moves, he lifts his feeble hand. 
And points with tried and trenched brand, 
And bids them to the battle-plain. 
They turn — they pause : he bids again ; 
They turn a last time to their chief. 



94 CALIFORNIAN. 

And gaze in silence and deep pain, 

For silence sj^eaks the deepest grief. 

They clutch their blades ; they turn — are gone : 

And priest and chief are left alone. 

"So here my last day has its close, 
And here it ends. Here all is not. 
I am content. 'Tis what 1 souo;ht — 
Revenge — and then my last repose. 
Oh for the rest — for the rest eternal ! 
Oh for the deep and the dreamless sleep! 
Where never a hope lures to deceive ; 
Where never a heart beats but to grieve ; 
Kor thoughts of heaven or hells infernal 
Shall ever wake or dare to break 
The rest of an everlasting sleep ! 

" Is there truth in the life eternal ? 
Will our memories never die ? 
Shall we relive in realms supernal 
Life's resplendent and glorious lie ? 
Death has not one shape so frightful 
But defiantly I would brave it ; 
Earth has nothinsj so delis^htful 



CALIFORNIAN. 9j; 

But my soul would scorn to crave it, 
Could 1 know for sure, for certain. 
That the fallino: of the curtain 
And the folding of the hands 
Is the fall and the final casting 
Of accounts for the everlasting ! 
Everlasting, and everlasting! 

" Well, I have known, I know not why, 
Through all my dubious days of strife, 
That when we live our deeds we die ; 
That man may in one hour live 
All that his life can bear or give. 
This I have done, and do not grieve, 
For I am older by a score 
Than many born long, long before, 
If sorrows be the sum of life. 

" Ay, I am old — old as the years 
Could brand me with their blood and tears; 
For with my fingers I can trace 
Grief's trenches on my hollow face. 
And through my thin frame I can feel 
The pulses of my frozen heart 



96 CALIFORNIAN. 

Beat with a dull uncertain start : 
And, miiTor'd in my sword, to-day. 
Before its edge of gleaming steel 
Had lost its lustre in the fray, 
I saw around my temples stray 
Thin straggling locks of steely gray. 

" Fly, fly you, to yon snowy height, 
And tell to her I fail, I die ! 
Fly swiftly, j^riest, I bid you ! — fly 
Before the falling of the night 1 
What! know her not? O priest, beware! 
I warn you answer thus no more. 
But bend your dull ear to the floor. 
And hear you who she is, and where. 

" She is the last, last of a line, 
With blood as rich and warm as wine, 
And blended blood of god and king ; 
Last of the Montezumas' line 
Who dwelt up in the yellow sun, 
And, sorrowing for man's despair. 
Slid by his trailing yellow hair 
To earth, to rule with love and bring 



CALIFORNIAN. 97 

The blessedness of peace to us. 

She is the last, last earthly one 

Of all the children of the sun; 

A sweet perfume still lingering 

In essence pure, and living thus 

In blessedness about the spot. 

When rose, and bush, and bloom are not. 

" Beside Tezcuco's flowery shore. 
Where waves were washing evennore 
The massive columns of its wall, 
Stood Montezuma's mighty hall. 
And here the Montezumas reign'd 
In perfect peace and love unfeign'd, 
Until, from underneath the sea 
Where all sin is, or ought to be. 
Came men of death and strange device, 
Who taught a mad and mystic faith 
Of crucifixion and of Christ, 
More hated than the plague or death. 

" Nay, do not swing your cross o'er me ; 
You cross'd you once, but do not twice, 
Kor dare repeat the name of Christ ; 

7 



98 CALIFORNIAN. 

Nor start, nor think to fly, nor fi'own, 
While you the stole and surplice wearj 
For I do clutch your sable gown, 
And you shall hear my curse, or prayer. 
And be my priest in my despair ; 
Since neither priest, nor sign, nor shrine 
Is left in all the land, of mine. 

" Enough ! We know, alas ! too well. 
How red Christ ruled — Tonatiu fell. 
The black wolf in our ancient halls 
Unfrighten'd sleeps the live-long day. 
The stout roots burst the mossy walls, 
And in the moonUght wild dogs play 
Around the plazas overgrown. 
Where rude boars hold their carnivals. 
The moss is on our altar-stone. 
The mould on Montezuma's throne, 
And symbols in the desert strown. 

" And when your persecutions ceased 
From troop, and king, and cowled priest, 
That we had felt for centuries — 
(Ah ! know you, priest, that cross of thine 



CALIFORNIAN. 99 

Is but death's symbol, and the sign 

Of blood and butchery and tears ? ) — 

And when return'd the faithful few, 

Beside Tezcuco's sacred shore, 

To build their broken shrines anew, 

They number'd scarce a broken score. 

Here dwelt my father — here she dwelt 

Here kept one altar burning bright, 

Last of the thousands that had shone 

Along the mountain's brows of stone, 

Last of a thousand stars of night. 

To Tonatiu Ytzaqual we bow'd — 

Nay, do not start, nor shape the sign 

Of horror at this creed of mine, 

Nor call ag-ain the name of Christ : 

You cross you once, you cross you twice— 

I warn you do not cross you thrice ; 

Nor will I brook a sign or look 

Of anger at her faith avow'd. 

I am no creedist. Faith to me 

Is but a name for mystery, 

I only know this faith is her's : 

I care to know no more, to be 

The truest of its worshippers. 



loo CALIFORNIAN. 

"The Cold-men came across the plain 
With gory blade and brand of flame : 
I know not that they knew or cared 
What was our race, or creed, or name ; 
I only know tlie Northmen dared 
Assault and sack, for sake of gain 
01 sacred vessels wrought in gold, 
The temple where gods dwelt of old ; 
And that my father, brothers, dared 
Defend their shrines — and all were slain. 

" ' Fly with the maid,' my father cried, 
When first the fierce assault was made — 
' A boat chafes at the causeway side,' 
And in the instant was obey'd. 
We gain'd the boat, sj^rang in, away 
We dash'd along the dimpled tide. 

" It must have been they thought we bore 
The treasure in our flight and haste, 
For in an instant from the shore 
An hundred crafts were making chase, 
And as their sharp prows drew apace 



CALIFORNIAN. loi 

1 caught a carbine to my face. 

She, rising, dash'd it quick aside ; 

And, when their hands were stretch'd to clasp 

The boat's prow in their eager grasp, 

She turn'd to me and sudden cried, 

'- Come, come ! ' and plunged into the tide. 

I plunged into the dimpled wave : 

I had no thought but 'twas my grave ; 

But faith had never follower 

More true than I to follow her. 



" On, on through purple wave she cleaves*, 
As shoots a sunbeam through the leaves. 
At last — what miracle was there ! — 
Again we breathed the welcome air; 
And, resting by the rising tide, 
The secret outlet of the lake, 
Safe hid by trackless fern and brake, 
With yellow lilies at her side, 
She told me how in ages gone 
Her Fathers built with sacred stone 
This secret way beneath the tide, 
That now was known to her alone 



I02 CALIFORNIAN. 

" When night came on and all was still. 
And stole the white moon down the liDl 
As soft, as if she too fear'd ill, 
Again I sought the sacred halls 
And on the curving causeway stood. 
I look'd — naug;ht but tlie blacken'd walls 
And charr'd bones of my kindred blood 
Was left beside the dimpled flood. 

* « * • * 

***** 

" Enough ! Mine was no temper'd steel 
To-day upon the stonny field, 
As many trench'd heads yonder feel. 
And many felt, that feel no more, 
That fought beneath your cross and shield, 
And, falling, called in vain to Christ. 
You curs'd monk ! dare you cross you thrice, 
When I have warn'd you twice before ? 
To you and your damn'd faith I owe 
My heritage of -crime and woe ; 
You shall not live to mock me more 
If there be temper in this brand. 
Or nerve left in this bloody hand. 



CALIFORNIAN. ir»3 



I start, I leave the stony ground, 
Despite of blood or mortal wound, 
Or darkness that has dimm'd the eye, 
Or senses that do dance and reel — 
I clutch a throat — I clench a steel — 
I thrust— -I fail — I fall — I die . . ." 



VI. 



She stands upon the wild watch-to wei 
And with her own hand feeds the flame 
The beacon-lioht to o'uide a2;ain 

o o o 

His coming from the battle-plain. 
Tis wearing past the midnight hour, 
The latest that he ever came, 
Yet silence reigns around the tower. 

'Tis hours past the midnight hour: 
She calls, she looks, she lists in vain 
For sight or sound from peak or plain. 
She moves along the beetling tower. 
She leans, she lists forlorn and lone. 
She stoops her ear low to the ground, 



104 CALIFORNIAN. 

In hope to catch the welcome sound 
Of iron on the rugged stone. 

In vain she j^eers down in the night 
But for one feeble flash of light 
From flinty stone and feet of steel. 
She stands upon the fearful rim, 
Where even coolest head would reel, 
And fearless leans her form far o'er 
Its edge, and lifts her hands to him, 
And calls in words as sweetly wild 
As bleeding saint or sorrowing child. 
She looks, she lists, she leans in vain. 
In vain his dalliance does deplore ; 
She turns her to the light again. 
And bids the watchman to the plain. 
Defying night or dubious way. 
To guide the flight or join the fray. 

The day-star dances on the snow 
That gleams along Sien-a's crown 
In gorgeous everlasting glow 
And fi'ozen glory and renown. 
Yet still she feeds the beacon flame. 
And lists, and looks, and leans in vain. 



CALIFORNIAN. 105 

The day has dawn'd. She still is there I 
Yet in her sad and silent air 
I read the stillness of despair. 
Why burns the red light on the tower 
So brightly at this useless hour? 
But see ! The day-king hurls a dart 
At darkness, and his cold black heart 
Is pierced ; and now, compell'd to flee, 
Flies bleeding to the farther sea. 
And now, behold, she radiant stands, 
And lifts her thin white jewell'd hands 
Unto the broad, unfolding sun. 
And hails him Tonatiu and King 
With hallow'd mien and holy prayer. 
Her fingers o'er some symbols run. 
Her knees are bow'd in worshipping 
Her God, beheld when thine is not. 
In form of faith long, long forgot. 

Again she lifts her brown arms bare, 
Far flashing in their bands of gold 
And precious stones, rare, rich, and old. 
Was ever mortal half so fair ? 
Was ever such a wealth of hair ? 



io6 CALIFORNIAN. 

Was ever such a plaintive air ? 
Was ever such a sweet despair ? 

"~ Still humbler now her form she bends ; 
Still higher now the flame ascends : 
She bares her bosom to the sun. 
Again her jewell'd fingers run 
In signs and sacred form and prayer. 
She bows with awe and holy air 
In lowly worship to the sun ; 
Then rising calls her lover's name, 
And leaps into the leaping flame. 

I do not hear the faintest moan, 
Or sound, or syllable, or tone. 
The red flames stoop a moment down, 
As if to raise her from the ground ; 
They whirl, they swu*l, they sweep a*vund 
With light'ning feet and fiery crown ; 
Then stand up, tall, tip-toed, as od^ 
Would hand a soul uj^ to the sua. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS 



TJie hills were brown, the heavens were blue, 

A woodpecker jjounded a pine-top shell. 

While a partridge whistled the whole day through 

For a rabbit to dance in the chapparal. 

And a gray grouse drumni'd, *'Airs well, alVs well.'"* 



THE LAST TASCIIASTAS. 

Part First. 

"f T 7RINKLED and brown as a bag of leather, 

A squaw sits moaning long and low. 
Yesterday she was a wife and mother, 
To-day she is rocking her to and fro, 
A childless widow, in weeds and woe. 

An Indian sits in a rocky cavern 
Whetting a flint in an arrow head ; 
His children are moving as still as shadows, 
His squaw is moulding some balls of lead, 
With her round face painted the battle-red. 

An Indian sits in a black-jack jungle. 
Where a grizzly bear has rear'd her young, 
Whetting a flint on a granite boulder, 
And his quiver is over his brown back hung. 
And his face is streak'd and his bow is strung. 



no THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 

All Indian hangs from a cliif of gi-anite. 
Like an eaj^le's nest built in the air, 
Looking away to the east, and watclung 
Tlie smoke of the cabins cui'hng tlu've^ 
And eagles' feathers are in his hair. 

In belt of wampum, in battle fashion, 

An Indian watches Avdth wild desire. 

He is red with paint, he is black with passion. 

And grand as a god in his savage ire, 

As he leans and listens till stars are a-fire. 

Sombre and sullen and sad, the chieftain 
Looks from the mountain far into the sea. 
Just before him beat in the white billows, 
Just behind him the toj^pled tall tree 
And chopping of woodmen, knee buckl'd to knee, 

Lone he looks, and he leans and listens — ■ 
Waves before him, behind him white waves 
Beating and breaking on the last Taschastas ; 
Waves that have toppled across red braves, 
Levell'd, and left not a sign of their graves. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. ni 

" Atv ake and arise ! O, remnant Taschastas ! 
Awake to the life that is deatli in the land, 
And this shall be doubled in dust contented"— 
H'e lifts to heaven his doubled right hand, 
Flashinor afar with a ""reat 2:old band. 

Part Second. 

All together, all in council, 

In a caiion wall'd so high 

That no thing could ever reach them 

Save some stars dropp'd from the sky. 

And the brown bats sweeping by: 

Some were gray and thin and wiry, 
Wise as brief, and brief as bold ; 
Some were young and fierce and fiery, 
Some were stately tall, and told 
Counsellings like kings of old. 

Flamed the council-fire brighter, 
Flash'd black eyes like diamond beads, 
Wl;en a woman told her sorrows, 
While a warrior told his deeds. 
And a widow tore her weeds. 



n2 THE LAST TASCHASTAS, 

Tlieii was lit the pipe of council 
That their fathers smoked of old, 
With its stem of manzinnetta, 
And its bowl of quartz and gold, 
And traditions manifold. 

Lo ! from li]) to lip in silence 
Bum'd it round the circle red, 
Like an evil star slow passing 
(Sign of battles and blood shed) 
Round the heavens overhead. 

Then the silence deep was broken 
By the thunder rolling flir, 
As gods muttering in anger. 
Or the bloody battle-car 
Of a Christian king at war. 

" 'Tis the spirits of my Fathers 
Mutt'ring vengeance in the skies ; 
And the flashing of the lightning 
Is the anger of their eyes. 
Bidding us in battle rise " 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. \\\ 

Cried the war-chief, now uprising, 
Naked all above the waist, 
While a belt of shells and silver 
Held his tamoos to its place, 
And the war-paint streak'd his face. 

Women melted fi*om the council. 
Boys crept backward out of sight, 
Till alone a wall of warriors 
In their paint and battle-plight 
Sat reflecting back the light. 

" O my Fathers in the storm-cloud ! " -^ 
(Red arms tossing to the skies, 
While the massive walls of granite 
Seem'd to shrink to half their size. 
And to mutter strange replies) — 

" Soon we come, O angry Fathers, 
Down the darkness you have cross'd : 
Speak for hunting-grounds there for us ; 
Those you left us we have lost — 
Gone Hke blossoms in a frost 
8 



14 THE LAST TASCHASTAS, 

" WaiTiors ! " (and his arms fell folded 
On his tawny swelling breast, 
While his voice, now low and plaintive 
As the waves in their unrest. 
Touching tenderness confess'd,) 

" Where is Wrotto, wise of counsel. 
Yesterday here in his ^^lace ? 
A brave lies dead down in the valley, 
Last brave of his line and race, 
And a Ghost sits on his face. 

" Where the boy the tender-hearted, 
With his mother yestei'morn ? 
Lo ! a wigwam-door is darken'd. 
And a mother mourns forlorn, 
With her long locks toss'd and torn. 

" Once like i^ines around a mountain 
Did my braves in council stand ; 
Now I call you loud like thunder, 
And you come at my command 
Faint and few, with feeble hand. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 115 

•* Lo ! our daughters have been gather'd 
From among us by the foe, 
Like the lihes they once gather'd 
In the spring-time all aglow 
From the banks of livinir snow. 



" Through the land where we for ages 

Laid the bravest, dearest dead, 

Grinds the savage white-man's ploughshare. 

Grinding sires' bones for bread — 

We shall give them blood instead. 

'* I saw white skulls in a fiirrow, 
And around the cursed share 
Clung the flesh of my own children ; 
And my mother's tangled hair 
Trail'd along the furrow there. 

" O my mother up in cloud-land ! " 
(Long arms lifting like the spray) 
" Whet the flint heads in my arrows, 
Make my heart as hard as they, 
Nerve me like a bear at bay \ 



ri6 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 

" Warriors ! braves ! 1 cry for vengeance ! 
And the dim ghosts of the dead 
Unavenged do wail and shiver 
In the storm-cloud overhead, 
And shoot aiTOws battle-red." 

Then he ceased, and sat among them. 
With his long locks backward strown ; 
They as mute as men of marble, 
He a king upon a throne, 
And as still as polish'd stone. 

Hard by stood the war-chiefs daughter, 
Taller than the tassel'd corn, 
Sweeter than the kiss of morning, 
Sad as some sweet star of morn. 
Half defiant, half forlorn. 

Robed in skins of striped panther 
Lifting loosely to the air. 
With a face a shade of sorrow. 
And black eyes that said. Beware I 
Nestled in a storm of hair; 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS, 117 

With her striped robes around her, 
Fasten'd by an eagle's beak, 
Stood she by the stately chieftain, 
Proud and pure as Shasta's peak, 
As she ventured thus to speak : 

" Must the tomahawk of battle 
Be unburied where it lies, 
O, last war-chief of Taschastas ? 
Must the smoke of battle rise 
Like a storm-cloud in the skies ? 

*' True, some wretch has laid a brother 
With his swift feet to the sun, 
But because one bough is broken, 
Must the broad oak be undone ? 
All the red-wood fell'd as one ? 

" True, the braves have faded, wasted 
Like ripe blossoms in the rain. 
But when we have spent the arrows, 
Do we twang the string in vain. 
And then snap the bow in twain?" 



Ii8 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 

Like a vessel in a tempest 
Shook the wamor, wild and grim, 
As he gazed out in the midnight, 
As to things that beckon'd him, 
And his eyes were moist and dim. 

Then he turned, and to his bosom 
Battle scarred, and strong as brass, 
Tenderly the warrior press'd her 
As if she were made of glass, 
Murmming, " Alas ! alas ! 

" Loua Ellah ! Spotted Lily ! 
Streaks of blood shall be the sign, 
On their curs'd and mystic pages, 
Rejiresenting me and mine ! 
By Tonatiu's fiery shrine ! 

" When the grass shall grow untrodden 
In my war-path, and the plough 
Shall be grinding through this canon 
Where my braves are gather'd now, 
Still shall they record this vov/. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 119 

*' War and vengeauce ! rise, my warriors, 
Rise and shout the battle-sign, 
Ye who love revenge and glory ! 
Ye for peace, in silence, pine, 
And no more be braves of mine." 

Then the war-yell roll'd and echo'd 
As they started from the ground, 
Till an eagle from his cedar 
Starting answered back the sound, 
And flew circling round and round. 

" Enough, enough, my kingly father 
And the glory of her eyes 
Flash'd the valor and the passion 
That may sleep but never dies, 
As she proudly thus rephes : 

" Shall the red-wood be a willow, 
Pliant and as little worth ? 
It shall stand the king of forests, 
Or its fall shall shake the earth, 
Desolating heart and hearth ! " 

* * * * « 

* * « • 



I20 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 

Paet Third. 

* * * 4i * 

Fkom cold east shore to warm west sea 

The red men foUow'd the red smi, 

And, faint and failing fast as he, 

Felt, sure as his, their race was run. 

This ancient tribe, press'd to the wave, 

There fain had slejot a patient slave. 

And died out as red embers die 

From flames that once leapt hot and highj 

But, roused to anger, half arose 

Around that chief, a sudden flood, 

At hot and hungry cry for blood ; 

Half drowsy shook a feeble hand, 

Then sank back in a tame rej^ose. 

And left him to his fate and foes, 

A stately wreck upon the strand. 

His was no common mould of mind, 
But made for action, ill or good. 
Cast in another land and scene, 
His restless, reckless will had been 
A curse or blessing to his kind. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. i2i 

His eye was like the lightning's wing, 
His voice was like a rushing flood; 
He boasted Montezuma's blood, 
And when a captive bound he stood 
His presence look'd the perfect king. 

'Twas held at first tliat he should die : 
I never knew the reason why 
A milder counsel did prevail, 
Save that we shrank from blood, and save 
That brave men do respect the brave. 
Down sea sometimes there was a sail, 
And far at sea, they said, an isle, 
And he was sentenced to exile, 
In open boat upon the sea 
To go the instant, on the main. 
And never under penalty 
Of death, to touch the shore again. 
A troop of bearded buckskinn'd men 
Bore him hard-hurried to the wave. 
Placed him swift in the boat ; and when 
Swift pushing to the bristled sea, 
His daughter rush'd down suddenly. 
Threw him his bow, leapt ft-om the shore 



122 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 

Into the boat beside the brave, 
And sat her down and seized the oar, 
And never question'd, made rej^lies. 
Or moved her lips, or raised her eyes* 

His breast was like a gate of brass, 
His brow was like a gather'd storm ; 
There is no chisell'd stone that has 
So stately and complete a form. 
In sinew, arm, and every part. 
In all the galleries of art. 

Gray, bronzed, and naked to the waistj 
He stood half halting in the prow, 
With quiver bare and idle bow. 
His daughter sat with her sad face 
Bent on the wave, with her two hands 
Held tightly to the dripping oar ; 
And as she sat her dimpled knee 
Bent Uthe as wand of willow tree. 
So round and full, so rich and fi-ee. 
That no one would have ever knowr 
That it had either joint or bone. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 12-j 

The waiin sea fondled with the shore, 
And laid his white face on the sands. 

Her eyes were black, her face was brown, 
Her breasts were bare, and there fell down 
Such wealth of hair, it almost hid 
The two, in its rich jetty fold — 
Which I had sometime fain forbid. 
They were so richer, fuller far 
Than any polish'd bronzes are. 
And richer hued than any gold. 
On her brown arms and her brown hands 
Were hoops of gold and golden bands, 
Rough hammer'd from the virgin ore. 
So heavy, they could hold no more. 

I wonder now, I wondcr'd then, 
That men who fear'd not gods nor men 
Laid no rude hand at all on her. 
I think she had a dagger sUd 
Down in her silver'd wampum belt ; 
It might have been, instead of hilt, 
A flashing diamond hurry-hid 
That I beheld — I could not know 



r24 THE LAST TASCHASTA^. 

For certain, we did hasten so ; 

And I know now less sure than then. 

Deeds strangle memoiies of deeds, 

Red blossoms wither, choked with weeds. 

And floods drown memories of men. 

Some things have happen'd since — and tlien 

This happen'd years and years ago. 

" Go, go ! " the captain cried, and smote 
With sword and boot the swaying boat. 
Until it quiver'd as at sea 
And brought the old chief to his knee. 
He turn'd his face, and turning rose 
With hand raised fiercely to his foes : 
" Yes, we will go, last of my race, 
Piish'd by the robbers ruthlessly 
Into the hollows of the sea. 
From this the last, last resting-place. 
Traditions of my Fathern say 
A feeble few reach'd for the land. 
And we reach'd them a welcome hand, 
Of old, upon another shore ; 
Now they are strong, we weak as they. 
And they have driven us before 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 125 

Their faces, fi*om that sea to this : 
Then marvel not if we have sped 
Sometime an arrow as we fled, 
So keener than a serpent's kiss." 

He tnrn'd a time unto the sun 
That lay half hidden in the sea. 
As in his hollows rock'd asleep. 
All trembled and breathed heavily ; 
Then arch'd his arm, as yon have done. 
For sharp masts piercing through tlie deep. 
No shore or tail ship met the eye, 
Or isle, or sail, or any thing. 
Save white sea-gulls on dripping wing, 
And mobile sea and molten sky. 

" Farewell ! — push seaward, child ! " he cried , 
And quick the paddle-strokes replied. 
Like lightning from the panther-skin 
That bound his loins round about 
He snatch'd a poison' d arrow out. 
That like a snake lay hid mthin, 
And twanged his bow. The captain fell 
Prone on his face, and such a jell 



126 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 

Of triumph from that savage rose 
As man may never hear again. 
He stood as standing on the main, 
The topmost main, in proud repose, 
And shook his clench'd fist at his foes. 
And called, and cursed them every one 
He heeded not the shouts and shot 
That followed him, but grand and grim 
Stood up against the level sun ; 
And, standing so, seem'd in his ire 
So grander than a leaping fire. 

And when the sun had lefl the sea. 
That laves Abrep, and Blanco laves. 
And lefl the land to death and rae, 
The only thing that I could see 
Was, ever as the light boat lay 
High lifted on the white-back'd waves, 
A head as gray and tossed as they. 



We raised the dead, and fi'om his hands 
Pick'd out the shells clutch'd as he lay. 



THE LAST TASCHASTAS. I27 

And two by two bore him away, 
And wiped his lips of blood and sands. 
We bent and scoop' d a shallow home, 
And laid him warm-wet in his blood. 
Just as the lifted tide a-flood 
Came charging in with mouth a-foam : 
And as we turn'd, the sensate thing 
Reach'd up, lick'd out its foamy tongue, 
Lick'd out its tongue and tasted blood ; 
The white lips to the red earth clung 
An instant, and then loosening 
All hold just like a living thing, 
Drew back sad-voioed and shuddering. 
All stain'd with blood, a striped flood. 



1 



IN A. 



iSad song of the wind m the mountains. 

And the sea-icave of grass on the plain, 
That breaks in bloom-foam bij the fountaina. 
And forests that breaketh again 
On the mountains, as breaketh a main. 

Bold thoughts that were strong as the grizzlies. 
But noio weak in their prison of ivords ; 
Bright fancies that flash' d like the glaciers. 
Now dimm'd like the lustre of birds, 
And butterflies huddlfd as hejxh. 

Sad symphony, wild, and unmeasured. 
Weed warp, and woof woven in strouds. 
Strange truths that a stray soul has treasured. 
Truths seen as through folding of shrouds. 
Or as stars through the rolling of clouds 



INA, 

Scene I. 

I Hacienda near Tezcuco, Mexico. Young Don Carlos 
alone, looking out on the moonlit mountains. 

Don Caklos. 

POPOCATAPETL looms lone like an island 

Above the white cloud-waves that break up 
against him ; 
\.round him white buttes in the moonlight are flashing 
jike silver tents pitch'd in the fields of heaven ; 
i^^hile standing in line, in their snows everlasting, 
?lash j^eaks, as my eyes into heaven are lifted, 
liike milestones that lead to the city eternal. 

Ofttirae when the sun and the sea lay together, 
Ited-welded as one, in their red bed of lovers, 
Embracing and blushing like loves newly wedded, 
[ have trod on the trailing crape :&-inges of twilight, 
A.nd stood there and hsten'd, and lean'd with lips 
parted, 



132 IN A, 

Till lordly peaks wrapp'd them, as chill night blew 

over, 
111 great cloaks of sable, like proud sombre Spaniards, 
And stalk' d from my sight down the dark corridors. 
And in the deep stillness — so still, so profoundly — 
I surely have heard their strong footfalls retreating. 

When the red-curtain'd West has bent red as with 

weeping 
Low over the couch Avhere the prone day lay dying, 
I have stood with brow lifted, confronting the moup 

tains 
That held their white faces of snow in the hea^'ens, 
And said, " It is theirs to array them so purely, (j 

Because of their nearness to the temple et ernal ; " '] 

And child-like have said, " They are fiir resting-places 
For the dear weary dead on their way up to heaven." 

But my soul is not with you to-night, mighty moun- ^ 
tains : 

It is held to the levels of earth by an angel ( 

Far more than a star, earth-fallen or unfallen, | 

Yet fierce in her follies and head-strong and stronger 
Than streams of the sea running in with the billows. 



IN A. 133 

Very well. Let hira woo, let him thrust his white 
whiskers 
And lips pale and purple with death in between us ; 
Let her wed, as she wills, for the gold of the gray- 
beard. 
And to give in my hand his league-lands and doub- 
loons : 
1 will set my face for you, O mountains, my brothers. 
For I yet have my honor, my conscience and freedom. 
My fleet-footed mustang and pistols rich-sLlver'd ; 
I will turn as the earth tui»ns her back on the sun, 
But return to the light of her eyes never more, 
While red noons have a night and white seas have a 
shore. 

Ls^A, approaching^ offers him her hand. 
Ina. 

I have come, dear Don Carlos, to say you farewell 
I shall wed Avith Don Castro at dawn of to-morro\v', 
And be all his own — fiim, honest, and faithful. 
I have promised this thing ; that I will keep m^ 

promise 
You who do know me care never to question. 
I have master'd myself to say this thing to you 



134 /^^. 

As a Lunter would master an hungered grizzly. 
Hear me : be strong, then, and say me farewell. 
The world is liis own who will brave its bleak hour». 
Dare, then, to confi'ont the cold days in their column ; 
As they march down uj^on you, stand, hew them to 

pieces. 
One after one, as you would a fierce foeman. 
Till not one abideth between two true bosoms. 

Here, standing here, in the vines by the twilight, 
While the fair moon was resting her face pure and 

pallid 
On the broad breast of heaven as one that is weai^. 
And her yellow hair trail'd bridal veils down u])on us. 
And the merry stars play'd hide-and-seek in the 

heaven. 
And danced there and dangled hke to golden threads 

tangled, 
He said to me this : " I am old and am heirless. 
And should I die so, by Mejico's statutes 
My gold and my broad reach of lands do go forfeit 
To the State, in despite of my will or my wishes ; 
But you, my true wife, would be left my fair widow, 
A queen in your wealtli to enrich a young lover." 



INA. 1^5 

Then I told to him all — all my love and my struggles ; 
And he called me most braA^e, and most true, and most 

noble, 
And said that he knew all my yearnings already, 
And only sought thus with his wealth to endow me. 
So then I promised, and shall keep my promise 
True as the sun keeps his course in the heaven, 
As stainless and pure, yet as warm as the siunmer 

Let us part as true friends, with a hope all unutter'd ; 

Without strife or a word, or an ill will between us. 

Turn you to the right or the left like to Abrani : 

The world is before us, come cloud, or come sky ; 

Give your hand here in mine and say bravely, Good-by. 

[Don Carlos with a laugh of scorn flies from the verandali^ 
mounts his steed, and disappears. 

IxA (loohing out into the nighty after a long silence). 

How doleful the night-hawk screams higli in the. 
heavens, 
How dismally gibbers the gray coyote! 
Afar to the south now the red-tongued thundei', 
Mine equal brother, my soul's own companion. 
Talks low in his sleep, like a giant deep-troubled ; 



136 INA. 

Talks fierce iu accord with my owd stormy spirit. 
But beyond him the supple California lion 
Has aroused him up in a dangerous rivalry — 
The beast, I could beard him alone in his lair, 
And toy with his mane, though it toss'd like a fire. 

Scene II. 

A spur of Mount Hood overlooking the WillameUe river. 
Laivionte, a mountaineer, pitches his solitary camp for tht 
night, and contemplates the scene. 

Laivionte . 

A FLUSHED and weary messenger a-west 

Is standing at the half-closed door of day, 
As he would say, Good-night ; and now his bright 
Red cap he tips to me and turns liis face. 
Were it an unholy thing to say. An angel 
Beside the door stood with uplifted seal? 
Behold the door seal'd with that blood-red seal 
Now burning, spreading o'er the mighty West. 
Never again shall the dead day arise 
Therefrom, but must be bora and come anew. 

The tawny, solemn Night, child of the East, 
tier mournful robes trails on the distant woods, 



IN A, 137 

And comes this way with firm and stately step. 
Afroiit, and very high, she wears her shining 
Breastplate of silver, and on her dark brow 
The radiant Venus burns like flashing wit. 
Behold ! how in her gorgeous flow of hair 
Glitter a million mellow yellow gems, 
Spilling their molten gold on the dewy grass. 
Throned on the boundless plain, and gazing down 
Calmly upon the red-seal'd tomb of day, 
Resting her form against the Rocky Mountains, 
She rules with silent power a peaceful world. 

'Tis midnight now. The bent and broken moon^ 
Batter' d and black, as from a thousand battles, 
Hangs silent on the purple walls of heaven. 
The angel warrior, guard of the gates eternal, 
In battle-harness girt, sleeps on the field ; 
But when to-morrow comes, when wicked men 
That fret the patient earth are all astir. 
He will resume his shield, and, facing earthward, 
The gates of heaven guard fi-om sins of earth. 

'Tis mom. Behold the kingly Day now leaps 
The eastern wall of earth Avith sword in hand. 



f38 IN A. 

Clad ill a flowing robe of mellow light, 
Like to a king that has regain'd his tlirone, 
He warms his drooping subjects into joy, 
That rise rejoiced to do him fealty. 
And rules with pomp the universal world. 

Fixr, fir do\\Ti in yon narrow spruce-hned canon 
Is the storm-hid abysm of ghostly darkness. 
I see him now, as down and down I peer, 
Crouch down, and shrink, and creep still up the gorge, 
Like some o-reat beast that would conceal its form 
In nervous terror from the gaze of man. 
The Willamette flashes back afar. 
And down his path of palms goes ever on, 
An endless caravan to some fair Mecca. 
On either side he spreads his yellow vales 
With strips of foamy streams and fringe of gi*een, 
As a merchant of the storied East unfolds 
His gorgeous wealth of green and yellow silks. 



'Tis harvest time, and valiant Nature bears 
Upon earth's broad and never-failing bosom 
A yellow shield of bright and gleaming gold, 



IN A. 139' 

Wrought out by patient husbandman to guard 
His sturdy race against the hosts of famine. 

Lifting the purj^le curtains of the gods 
With flasliing hehnets that defy the clouds, 
And make fierce fellowship with undimm'd stars, — 
Mount Hood ! and fair Saint Helens ! snows eternal 
As the sun, — from this my mossy mountain throne, 
With lifted and uncover'd head, I greet ye ! 

Soft snowy breasts on Nature's swelling bosom — 
Nature benign and bounteous — let me draw 
Pure inspiration from ye, as a child 
Draws nurture from a loving mother's breast. 
And be your child, your yearning, wayward child, 
And, sitting here as on a parent's knee. 
Gaze wonder-full into the face of Nature. 

Don Carlos ascends the mountam gesticulating and talking to 

himself. 

Don Carlos. 

Oh for a name that black-eyed maids wouki sigh 
And lean with 25arted lips at mention of, 
That I should seem so tall in the minds of men 



I40 IN A. 

That I micrht walk beneath the arch of Heaven, 

And i^luck the ripe red stars as I pass'd on, 

As favour'd guests do pkick the purple grapes 

That hang above the humble entrance-way 

Of a palm-thatch'd mountain-inn of Mexico. 

Oh, I would give the green leaves of my life 

For something gi-and and real — undream'd deeds I 

To wear a mantle, broad and richly jewell'd 

As puri)le heaven fringed with gold at sunset ; 

To wear a crown as dazzling as the sun, 

And, holding up a sceptre lightning-charged, 

Stride out among the stars as I have strode 

A barefoot boy among the buttercups. 

Alas ! I am so restless. There is that 

Within me doth rebel and rise against 

The all I am and half I see in others ; 

And were 't not for contempt of coward act 

Of flying all defeated fi*om the world, 

As if I feared and dared not face its ills, 

I should ere this have known, known more oi- less 

Than any flesh that frets this sullen earth. 

I know not where such thoughts will lead me to : 

I have had a fear that they would drive me mad, 

And then have flatter'd my weak self, and said 



INA. 141 

The soul 's outgrown the body — yea, the soul 
Asj^ires to the stars, and in its struggles 
Does make the dull flesh quiver Uke an aspen. 

La^monte. 

What waif is this cast here upon my shore, 
From seas of subtle and uncertain men ? 

Dox Caelos. 

Subtle and selfish men ! — ah, that 's the term ! 
And if you be but earnest in your spleen, 
And the other sex across man's shoulders curse, 
I'll stand beside you on this crag and curse 
And hurl my clench'd fists down upon their heads, 
Till I am hoarse as yonder cataract. 

Lamonte. 

Why, no, my friend, I'll not consent to that. 
No true man yet has ever cursed a woman ; 
And I — I do not hate my fellow man. 
For man by nature bears within himself 
Nobility that makes him half a god ; 
But as in somewise he hath made himself, 



$4^ IN A. 

His univorsal thirst for gold and pomp, 

And purchased fleeting fame and bubble honors, 

Forgetting good, neglecting helpless age, 

And rushing rough-shod over lowly merit, 

I hold him but a sorry worm indeed ; 

And so have turn'd me quietly aside 

To know the majesty of peaceful woods. 

There is a freshness there, a perfect fairness, 

A candor and unlanguaged harmony 

That wins you, and you worship unawares. 

Don Carlos {cis if alone). 

The fabled fount of youth led many fools, 
Zealous in its pursuit, to hapless death ; 
And yet this thirst for fame, this hot ambition, 
This soft-toned syren-tongue, enchanting Fame, 
Doth lead me headlong on to equal folly. 
Like to a wild bird charm'd by shining coils 
And swift mesmeric glare of deadly snake : 
I would not break the charm, but win a world 
Or die with curses blistering my lips. 

Lamonte. 
You startle me ! I am unused to hear 



IN A. 113 

Men tnlk these fierce find bitter thoughts ; and yet 
In closed recesses of my soul was once 
A dark and gloomy chamber where they dwelt. 
Give up ambition — yea, crush out such thoughts 
As you would crush from hearth a scorpion-brood : 
For, mark me well, they '11 get the mastery, 
And drive you on to death — or worse, across 
A thousand ruin'd homes and broken hearts. 



Dox Carlos. 

Give up ambition ! Oh, rather than die. 
And glide a lonely, nameless, shivering ghost 
Down the dark tide of utter nothingness, 
I 'd write a name in blood and orphans' tears. 
The temple-burner wiser was than kings. 
Yet violence is not my inner nature : 
I would embalm my name in noblest good, 
Would die a death of lofty self-denial, 
If but the world beheld the sacrifice 
And men took note and told my fame to her, 
Tliat she might weep for spite and envy me 
My sweet applause and dignity of death. 
I 'd write a song eternal as the sun, 



144 -^■^^• 

As chaste and beautiful as is the moon. 

That men might read even as they read the stars 

In their enamell'd settinoj in the rinsr 

Above, the crescent blue, in deep delight ; 

Denied the art and opportunity, 

I 'd leap strong arm'd upon the centre stage 

Of this uncertain, accidental life, 

Snatch up the slacken'd reins, and ruthless guide 

The idle energies of the monster mob, 

Reckless of every cost or pain to man. 

To my grand honor, glory and renown. 

While he should wonder, worship, call me wise. 

Lamonte. 
But would you dare the curse of man and — 



Don Carlos. 

Dare ! 

I 'd dare the curses of the sceptred kings ! 

I 'd build a pyramid of the whitest skulls. 

And step therefi'om unto the spotted moon, 

And thence to stars, thence to the central suns ; 

Then with one grand and mighty leap would land 



INA, 145 

Unhinder'd on the shores of the gods of old. 
And, sword in hand, unbared and unabash'd, 
Would stand forth in the presence of the God 
Of gods ; there, on the jewell'd inner-side 
The walls of heaven, carve with a Damascus 
Steel, highest up, a grand and titled name 
That time nor tide could touch or tarnish ever. 
Yea, any thing on earth, in hell or heaven, 
Rather than lie a nameless clod forgot. 
Letting stern Time in triumph forward tramp 
4bove my tombless and neglected dust. 

Lamonte. 

Seek not to crop above the heads of men 
To be a better mark for envy's shafts. 
Come to my peaceful home, and leave behind 
These stormy thoughts and daring aspirations. 
It is revenge that shows the savage heart. 
And earthly power 's a thing comparative. 
Is not a petty chief of some lone isle, 
With half-a-dozen nude and starving subjects, 
As much a king as he the Czar of Rusk ? 
[n yonder sweet retreat and balmy place 

10 



146 INA. 

I '11 abdicate, and you be chief indeed. 

There you will reign and tell me of the worlds 

lis life and lights, its sins and sickly shadows. 

The pheasant will reveille beat at morn, 

And rouse us to the battle of the day. 

My swarthy subjects will in circle sit, 

And, gazing on your kingly presence, deem 

You great indeed, and call you chief of chiefs; 

And, knowing no one greater than yourself 

In all the leafy borders of your realm, 

'Gainst what can pride or poor ambition chafe ? 

'Tmll be a kingdom without king, save you. 
Broader than that the cruel Cortes won. 
With subjects truer than he ever knew. 
That know no law but only Nature's law. 
And no religion know but that of love. 
There truth and beauty are, for there is Nature, 
Serene and simple. She will be our priestess, 
And in her calm and micomplaining face 
We will read well her rubric and be wise. 

A glass- like lake lies on this mountain-top ; 
You bend you o'er, and, resting on your palms, 



1 



INA. 147 

G.ize dowm and down full fifty fathoms deep, 
And see the speckled mountain-trout that sport, 
All gold and silver-sheathed and scaled, above 
Rich palaces, brown, marble-built and massive, 
Hewn out and built or ei^er man had named 
Tlie stars — when mighty Nimrod kept the chase. 

Black, quilless pines, perfect as those ashore — 
Proportion'd mighty, perfectly erect — 
Stand dark and sullen in the silent courts. 
You cast a pebble in, a nut in size. 
And watch it wind and wind a weary time, 
Then see it plain as if 'twas in your hand. 
Could you believe a flood could be so pure, 
So mirror-like, so strangely beautiful ? 
Some tall pines press up to the water's edge 
And droop adown their plumed and sable heads, 
And weep above their buried comrades still 
All night the dewy tears of Nature. 

A league across, the j^ines have broken rank 
And stand in small platoons, or stand alone ; 
While far across the rolling sea-like meads 
Do dash and wheel the spotted Indian steeda. 



I4S INA. 

The warriors shout and gallop up and down, 

And lovely maids in beaded moccasons, 

Furs thick with red and yellow feathers fringed, 

As tall and straight as water tules are, 

Go forth in dusky beauty in their walk 

Beneath the circling shadows of the pines, 

Or bathe and dream along the borders of the lake. 

And far beyond, where pines crowd thick and tall. 
And waters dwindle to a nan*ow wedge. 
The glad lake opes her pretty gushing mouth, 
And down a foaming cataract of silver 
Pours all her ceaseless song and melody — 
The far source of the lovely Willamette. 

At night, o'ersj^read by the rich, purple robe, 
The deep imperial Tyrian hue that folds 
The invisible form of the Eternal God, 
You will see the sentry stars come marching forth 
And take their posts upon the field above, 
Ai'ound the gi-eat white tent where sleejis their chief; 
You will hear the kakea sinsring: in a dream 
The wildest, sweetest song a soul can drink. 
And when the tent is folded ujj, and all 



INA. 149 

The golden-fringed red sentries faced about 

To et the pompous day-king pass along, 

We two mil stand upon a sloping hill, 

Where white-lipped springs come leaping, laughing up, 

With water spouting forth in merry song 

Like bridled mirth from out a school-scirl's throat. 

And look far do^\Ti the bending Willamette, 

And in his thousand graceful curves and strokes 

And strange meanderings, men misunderstand, 

Read the unutterable name of God. 

Don Carlos. 

Why, truly now, this fierce and broken land, 
Seen through your eyes, assumes a fairer shape 
Lead up, for you are nearer God than I. 

SCEISTE III. 

L!^A, in hlack, alone hy the sea. Midnight. 
Ina. 

f T 7EEP i Me to weep ? How I laugh to think 
^^ of it! 

I lift my dark brow to the breath of the ocean. 
Soft kissing me now like the lips of my mother, 



£>SPi IN A, 

And laugh low and long as I crush the brown grasseis, 
To think I should weep ! Why, I never wept — never, 
Not even in punishments dealt me in childhood ! 
Yea, all of my wrongs and my bitterness buried 
In my brave baby heart, all alone and unfriended. 
And I pitied, with j^roud and disdaiufulest pity, 
The weak who would weep, and I laugh'd at the folly 
Of those who could laugh and make merry witli play- 
things : 
Then I tuck'd down my chin and went under the 

lindens, 
And made me companions of grave horned cattle. 

Noll will not weep now over that I desired. 
Desired ? Yes : I to myself dare confess it, 
Ah, too, to the world should it question too closely. 
And bathe me and sport in a deep sea of candor. 
Bah ! Cowards deceive, and I know not w liat fear is. 
Men lie, who lack courage to tell truth — the cowards! 

Like Lucifer dower'd Avith pride and wild beaut/, 
With i)overty cursed and the fiercest ambition, 
I stood all alone by my sweet child-mother ; 



INA. 151 

Wlieu the kind dotard came and did bend him for- 
ward, 

Fast thrusting his beard by my boy Don Carlos. 

And so I did wed him. AYould you know now the 
reason ? 

I endured the cold frost for the springtime to fol- 
low, 

Did wed to the one for the love of the other. 

And to get for him gold, gave my whole fair body. 



Oh, alone and unlike to all other things earthly 
Was my brave boy-lover ; as an isle 'mid the oceans 
Of men, so alike as are drops of water. 
He did Avin my heart by his great defiance 
Of men and manners, and his thouglits unbridled. 
But now made a queen, after all my struggles, 
I shall seek him out and surprise and enrich him ; 
And seek him with songs as a sweet boy-poet. 
[ did bear my burden long, loyal and f litliful, 
Mven down to the end, and did make no murmur: 
r>ut now he is dead and I dare joy at it. 
And am I then the first that has joy'd thus fiercely, 
^Vud lield Death's mantle while he did his office^ 



152 INA, 

What now if the odds were but this wild courage, 
That does dare shape thought into plainest language 



Let the world be deceived : it insists upon it ; 
Let it bundle me round in its black woe-garments ; 
But I, self with self — my free soul fearless — 
Am as frank as the sun, nor the toss of a copper 
Care I if the world call it good or evil. 
I am glad to-night, and in new^-born freedom 
Forget all earth with my old companions, — 
The moon and the stars and the moon-clad ocean. 
I am face to flxce with the stars that know me, 
And gaze as I gazed in the eyes of my mother. 
Forgetting the city and the coarse things in it ; 
For there's naught but God in the shape of mortai 
Save one — my wandering, wild boy-lover — 
That I do esteem worth a stale banana. 



The air hangs heavy and is warm on my shouldei 
And is thick with odors of balm and blossom ; 
The great bay sleeps with the ships on her bosom. 
Through the Golden Gate, to the left-hand yonder, 



INA. 163 



Newer, and purer fi-ora the hand of God, 
Did find a traitor in His chosen twelve. 



Lamonte. 

There 's that in you that draws my soul to yours , 
Your head, I fear, but not your heart, is wrong. 
I will not answer now, but summon you 
To yon grand courts to give in evidence. 
Where sleep the monarchs of a thousand stonns, 
For ever still in shrouds of color'd moss. 
While gi'een vines twine a pretty wreath above, 
As crowning graves of dear and gallant dead ; 
The Yew, in cloak of everlasting green, 
Does sweep her pretty palms in winning eloquence, 
While scarlet berries bead her lisping boughs 
Like threaded drops of rainbow-painted dew, 
Or pearls upon an Indian maiden's limbs. 
Reposing there on couch of mossy carpet. 
Where darkest green is wove with yellow moss. 
And yellow wove with gi-een, all undisturb'd 
By sight or sound save birds of sweetest song, 
While mighty trees above receive the red 
And hot darts of the sun on bearded helmets. 



164 /^^. 

Will come to you the higher evidence, 
Stronger a thousandfold and more convincing 
Than if produced by oath of all mankind. 
With me in my untraversed wilds and caves, 
My kingdom unexplored, you will read the book 
Of Nature that unclasp'd lies, while the mnds 
Mesmeric as the fingers of your love 
Will turn the living leaves as you read on — 
Will paint in lambent amber hues and Tyi'ian, 
And strike in plaintive mellow tone a harp 
That hangs upon the lightning-shiver'd pine ; 
And, reading, we shall happier grow and better. 
Nature will mightier seem yet milder there. 
Because we shall be nearer to her face. 



Don Carlos. 

And if I should, what then ? What though I met 
My Maker face to face, as in the Mount ? 
Left mountain-bound in islands of the clouds, 
What fame or fortune could betide me there ? 
I had as well know secrets of deep death, 
Or hold in hand the keys of Caesar's cofFe/s, 
And be for evennore forbid their use. 



IN A. \^ 

LUCFS. 

What, he, the poor blasphemous and crazy beggar ! 
So must you speak, or else the world will hiss you, 
Of these brave spirits God tries in His fire, 
Then takes unto Himself, as guards in heaven — 
Loves them and takes them as his own companions 
In their strong youth, as the old Greeks have said. 
Leaving their dust in tracts most desolate. 
A bear, as in old time, came from the woods 
And tore him there upon that storm-swept cliff — 
A grim and grizzled bear, like unto hunger. 
A tall ship sail'd adown the sea next morn. 
And, standing with his glass upon the prow. 
The captain saw a vulture on a chff. 
Gorging, and pecking, stretching his long neck. 
Bracing his raven plumes against the wind. 
Fretting the tempest with his sable feathers. 

Don Carlos. 

'Twas wrong, he should have lived and fought it out 
This nursing a gushing heart of sentiment 
Does biing contempt on half the schemes of life. 
Tears are a woman's weapons, sorry things 

11 



i62 INA. 

Even m her, but in man despicable. 

What ! lie down and be rode upon rough-shod ? 

No . face and fight, and be at least respected 

The lion is not a comely beast, but brave. 

And is therefore revered above all beasts. 

And, bravest of the brave, is chosen king. 

God and his angels fought for heaven; Christ 

Did beat with thongs the craven money-chaugera ; 

The chosen Peter wore a willing sword. 

The stormy elements war through all the year ; 

Spring and bluff Winter strive for mastery ; 

Autumn and Winter struggle on the heath. 

And I have seen them wrestle in the woods 

Until the yellow leaves were all awhirl. 

And sighs and groans went up and down the hills. 



He sought the impossible — asked good unmixed, 
Asked peace on earth where there is no peace. 
Here do the kernel and the chaff all blend, 
And good and evil intwine. Hereafter, 
After the harvest, the segregation. 
Even the Christ, two thousand years ago, 
In the far dawn while yet the world was young, 



INA. 157. 

Content ! Ob, she has crack'd the ribs of earth 
And made her shake poor trembling man from off 
Her back, even as a grizzly shakes the hounds 
She has upheaved her rocky spine against 
The flowino: robes of the Eternal God. 
Nature is not content. Ha ! I have lieard lier 
Rushing at night swift down the streaming plain, 
And, when the storm was thick and deep at night, 
Have seen her press her face in blacken'd mask 
Against my window-jjane, and sob, and weep. 
And wail, until the great round tears ran down ; 
And then, as if in savage desperation. 
Seize violent hold and shake the sash and fi*arae 
Until they quailed and quaked like aspen-leaf. 
I did unbar the window for her once, 
This wild-lamenting, fretful, cliildish Nature : 
She, like a wood-rear'd girl, rush'd reckless in 
And hid her trembling in a darken'd coi-ner. 
Peer down there, half a league by cliff and bough. 
Into the river's white complaining fice. 
And see his gray hair trail'd in shifting sands : 
There comes a wail of terror and despair 
Up from his white and trembling lips a-foam. 
While he uplifts his thin white palms to pines 



158 INA. 

That bend clark-brow'd and sad as o'er a tomb. 
No ! 'tis a pretty thought and pretty theme 
That Nature reigns in majesty serene : 
Rut lift the skirts of Isis, and be wise. 

Lucus. 

Heartless ambition and unholy pride ! 
Hatred of man and strange contempt of woman ! 
At war with all, and your own enemy ! 
While man is man, do not attempt to shine 
Too bright : consult your peace, beware of pride ; 
For malice shoots alone at shining marks. 
Beware of pride. I once did hear a learn'd 
Man say, "By pride the angels fell from heaven." 

Don Carlos. 
By pride they reach'd a place fi*om which to fall. 

Lucus. 

And were they better, happier, having thus 
Ascended, then prostrate to fall so far ? 

Don Carlos. 
Yes ! Let me only win the love I woo, 



IN A 159 

Enjoy her but one brief hour, then lose all, 
I will be winner that one gracious hour ; 
And in my memory then will I possess 
A wall'd spring hung about with cooling palms, 
Where weary recollection traversing 
The barren desert of my life, might pause 
And bathe herself, and, resting, rise refresh'd. 
There be some men with hope so full and strong, 
Their souls feed on the future — a green field — 
But mine will not go on, but backward turns 
As if for something lost or left behind : 
Goes back against my will, an endless lane, 
A stray sheep from the flock that ever keeps 
The dusty centre of the unwater'd way. 
And looks up weary at the fasten'd gates 
That lead to cooling springs and verdant banks, 
But closed against me when at first I pass'd. 

Lucus. 

There was one once of nature like to this : 
He stood a barehead boy upon a cliff 
Pine-crowu'd, that hung high o'er a bleak north sea 
His long hair stream'd and flash'd like yellow silk, 
His sea-blue eyes lay deep and still as lakes 



i6o INA. 

O'erhung by mountains arched in virgin snow ; 

And far astray, and fiiendless and alone, 

A tropic bird blown through the north frost- wind, 

lie stood above the sea in the cold white moon, 

His thin face lifted to the flashing stars, 

And talk'd familiarly full face to face 

With the Eternal God, in solemn night. 

Confronting Him with free and flippant air 

As one confronts a merchant o'er his counter, 

And in his vehement blasphemy did say : 

"God, put aside this world — show me another! 

God, this world is a cheat — hand down another ! 

I will not buy — not have it as a gift. 

Put it aside and hand me down another — 

Another, and another, still another, 

Till I have tried the fairest world that hangs 

Upon the walls and broad dome of your shop, 

The finest one that has come from your hand ; 

For I am proud of soul and regal born. 

And will not have a cheap and cheating world." 



Don Carlos. 
The noble youth! So God gave him another? 



IN A, 155 

Strike like a serpent in the grass conceal'd ? 

What, steal into their homes, and, when athirst 

And unsuspecting, they come down in couples 

And dip their muzzles in the mossy brink, 

Then shoot them down without a chance to fly — 

The only means that God has given them. 

Poor, unarm'd mutes, to bafile cruel man ! 

Ah, now I see you had not thought of this! 

The hare is fleet, and quick at sight and sound, 

His coat is changed with color of the fields ; 

Yon deer turn brown when forest-leaves are brown • 

The dog has teeth, the cat has teeth and claws. 

And man has craft and art and sinewy arms : 

All things that live have some means of defence . . . 

Ltjcus. 
Ay, all — save only lovely, helpless woman. 

Don Carlos. 
Nay, woman has her tongue — arm'd to the teeth. 

Lucus. 

Thou Timon, what can 'scape your bitterness ? 
But for this sweet repose and peace of Nature 



f-Sft IN A. 

Upon whose breast we here recline and dream^ 
Why, you might lift your voice and rail at her ! 



Don Caklos. 

Oh, I am out of patience with your faith ! 
What ! Nature quiet, peaceful, uncomplaining ? 
I Ve seen her fretted like a lion caged, 
Chafe like a peevish woman cross' d and churl'd, 
Tramping and foaming like a whelpless bear ; 
Have seen her weep till earth was wet with tears, 
Then turn all smiles — a jade that won her point; 
Have seen her tear the hoary hau* of Ocean, 
While he, himself full half a world, would moan 
And roll and toss his clumsy hands all day 
To earth like some great helpless babe, that lay 
Rude-rock'd and cradled by an unseen nurse, 
Then stain her snowy hem with salt-sea tears ; 
And when the peaceful, mellow moon came forth, 
To walk and meditate among the yellow 
Blooms that make blest the upper pm-ple fields, 
This wroth dyspeptic sea ran after her 
With all his soul, as if to pour himself. 
All sick f\nd helpless, in her snowy lap. 



TNA, 153 

rhe white sea lies in a deep sleep, snoring, 
The father of melody, the mother of measure, 
Lifting his breast to the moon, deep breathing. — 
Let me sing by the sea a song as he slumbers, 
A song to the air of the sweetest of singers. 

O tempest-toss'd sea of white bosoms, 

O breasts with demands and desires, 

O hearts fill'd of fevers, of fires, 

Reaching forth from the tangible blossoms^ 

Reaching far for impossible things ! 

Beat not, O break not your warm wings 

On the cruel cold bars any more. 

Lo ! the sea, the gi*eat sea has his shore. 

And lies in his limit ; the moon 

Has her night, and the sun has his noon. 



What a wonderful world truly this is ! 
How barren of wisdom and worth I 
How populous full is the earth 
Of the fools that taste not of its blisses ! 
Then despise not the glories before you. 



154 TNA. 

With your feet on the things that are real : 
Take the tangible loves that adore you, 
Touch the forms that are flesh and can feel. 

Leaves fade, and the frosts are before us ; 
Leaves fall, and the winter winds are ; 
Loves fail ! Let us cross and deplore us ; 
Loves die ! Lift your hands as at war. 
Lift your hands to the world and deny it ; 
Lift your voice, cry aloud and deny ; 
Cry aloud, " 'Tis a lie ! " and belie it 
With lives made a beautiful lie. 



Scene IV. 

A Wood by a Hmdet on a spur of Mount Hood, overlooking 
the Columbia. Lamonte a)id Don Carlos, on their way to 
the camp, have met with other hunters, and are reposing under 
the shadow of the forest. Some deer are observed descending 
to the brook, and one of the party seizes his rife. 



Don Carlos. 

AY, then, my friend, don't strike them from your 
covert. 



N 



IN A, . 165 

Lamoxtk. 

Wliy, no ! You 'd gather up pure gems of thought, 
Or catch bricjht fancies one bv one that Hit 
You by like beauteous Orient birds, and cage 
Them up between a precious vohmie^s Uds ; 
Or Hke one gathering gold from out the sand, 
A little here, a little there, then all 
Mould in one bright and shining shield, and so 
Bearing it up, descend upon the world 
Like some proud conqueror of olden time ; 
Or shine forth in the newness of your thought 
Like some bright lovely star that hastens forth 
Before its mates, chasing the sullen sun. 
And so be seen and known of all the world. 

Don Caklos. 

What is there new atop of this old world ? 
Should e'er I come to write your books, why I 
Would search among the quaint and dusty tomes 
While the selfish world sought pleasure and repose, 
And Shoddy did up the European tour 
Much as a blockhead schoolboy does a task, 
\V hilc men well skill'd in sales of soap and lard, 



i66 . INA, 

And learn'd in all the art of packing pork, 
Would coarsc4y tramp the sacred dust that deeds, 
When earth was blithe and young, have made iin- ( 

mortal 
(Where I would softly tread unshod and bared). 
I 'd ])ick up here and there from dusty masters 
The ancient coins of loftiest, noblest thought, 
And cast them in one shining shield of bronze, 
And bearing it aloft high-heralded, 
Well flank'd with sheets of broad advertisements, 
Be call'd a bard of new-inspired song. 
I 'd throttle modest mien and word in tliis 
Swift age, as base traducers of my fame ; 
I 'd cast meek modesty into the sea. 
The Jonah that had brought me all my trouble. 
I 'd plant a preface full afront my book 
As you would plant a battery in war. 
And, bearing down all things that dared oppose. 
With shout and flourish take the world by storm. 
Or at the least I 'd hold a touching tale 
Before my book as you would hold a shield, 
And with it catch or turn aside the darts 
And poison'd shafts of killing criticism. 
But mind you, fame is not now won with ink, 




IN A. 167 

The author's pen 's a lever, lifting others ; 
The stain of blood is readier seen from far, 
And gold like some bright star's at once beheld 
By all the world throughout the darkest day, 
And instant wins the worship of the mob. 

The world has turn'd shopkeeper — go, sell, sell ; 
Put on yourself a costly price, to sell : 
Real cash-customers buy no cheap goods. 
The mob has now got hold the money-bags, 
And skilful judges of corn, pork, and cabbage 
Do judge men by their arrogance and name. 
Assume a lofty air and sounding title — 
The barefaced fools outnumber and outshout 
The men of sense and solid worth and thouo-ht. 
The gilded chisell'd vessels that encase 
Most stupid, sour, and unwholesome wines 
At once are pluck'd at by the money-mob, 
The while the plain but precious bottled liquor 
Accumulates the dust of generations. 

Go, buy and sell. Get gold. A golden lever 
Moves more than e'er the Syracusan might. 
Deceit brings wealth, wealth buys the bubble fame. 



i68 INA. 

Fame lulls the fever of the soul, and makes 
Us feel that we have grasp'd an immortality. 

Oh, I have mock'd at man and shook with mirth. 
Yet is in all a sort of savage justice. 
Have you no time observed with what an odd 
Yet an impartial hand are things divided ? 
The fool has fortunes thrust upon him, while 
The man of brains is pinch'd with penury. 
The dolt who feels as much of sentiment 
As a milch-coAV, fed in her field of clover, 
Goes on serene through sweetest-smelling meads, 
"With maidens fainting for a breath of love, 
And heiresses cast at his empty head 
By fond mammas, whene'er he please to show it • 
While he of finest sense is blown by fate. 
Like some sea-waif, upon the frontier wild. 
The prettiest maiden is a screeching paiTot, 
While she of wit is shorn of all of beauty ; 
The gifted man is stoop'd and sallow-pale. 
The ass stands six feet up of lovely flesh ; 
Wisdom means age and gout and ugliness, 
While the crude boy has health and ruddy beauty, 
And wisdom's sov'reign head is bow'd and bald. 
And the rich man envies the beggar's stomach. 



IN/i. 169 

Lamonte. 

Give me your hand, your right in this my left — 
Its blood comes nearer from the heart ; and then, 
My right is dead, deader than this your love ; 
For love, like Lazarus, can only sleejD, 
But, breathed upon by love and hope, will rise — 
Rise up a loftier and a Jiolier love. 
I know you now ; I am an elder brother, 
For sorrow and deceit have made us kin. 
From want and disappointment, bitter breasts, 
We two have drawn our stormy natures. 

A Young Hunter ascends the mountain and approaches, 

Don Carlos. 

Ho ! whom, now, have we here ? Talk of the devil, 
And he is at hand. Say, who are you, and whence ? 

Hunter. 
I am a poet, and dwell down by the sea. 

Don Carlos. 

A poet ! a poet, forsooth ! Fool ! hungry fool ! 
Would you know what it means to be a poet ? 



i7o 



IN A 



It is to want a Mend, to want a home, 

A country, money, — ay, to want a meal. 

It is not wise to be a poet now. 

For the world has so fine and modest growu 

It will not praise a poet to his face. 

But waits till he is dead «ome hundred years, 

Then up rears marbles cold and stupid as itself. 

But rest you here, and while the red-hot sun 
Wheels on, and sleep my fiiends beneath the boughs, 
Do, pray, beguile the hour ^vith a song. 

HuNTEK {sings). 
I am as one unlearned, uncouth, 
From country come to join the youth 
Of some sweet town in quest of truth ; 

A Nazarene of wood and plain 
A-west, from whence no good may come. 
I stand apart as one that's dumb. 
1 hope — I fear — I hasten home. 

I plunge into my wilds again. 

I catch some dulcet symphonies, 
I drink the low sweet melodies 



IN A. 171 

That stream through dense dark feathered trees 
Like echoes from some far church bell, 

Or music on the water spilled 

Beneath the still moon's holy spell, 

And life is sweeter — all is well — 
The sou] is fed. The heart is filled. 

I move among my frowning firs, 
Black bats wheel by in rippled whirs, 
While naught else living breathes or stirs. 

I peep — I lift the boughs apart — 
I tiptoe u]) — I try to rise — 
I strive to gaze into the eyes 
Of charmers chaiming very wise — 

I coin their faces on my heart. 

I hear them on the Northern hills 
Discoursing with the beaded rills, 
While over all the full moon spills 

Her flood in gorgeous plenilune. 
White skilful hands sweep o'er the stnngs, 
I heed as when a seraph sings, 
I lean to catch the whisperings, 

I list into the night's sweet noon. 



tY2 IN A. 

I see them by tne Eastern strand, 
"" A singing sea-shell in each hand, 
And silk locks tossing as they stand, 

And tangled in the toying breeze. 
And lo ! the sea with salty tears, 
While white hands toss, then disappear. 
Doth plead that they for years and years 

Will stay and sing unto the seas. 

Don Carlos. 
Hold ! hold your tongue, and hold my aching head 1 
'Tis well for you the Roman mob is dead. 
This stuff of yours is full of pompous I's 
As a candidate for Congress is of lies. 
Why talk so loudly of yourself at large ? 
Your neighbors do that for you, fi*ee of charge ! 
This poetry 's not of the heart, but stomacli ; 
^ot inspiration, but 'tis indigestion 
Disturbs the balance-wheel that rules your brain. 
Love food the less — respect your stomach more. 
For more have groan'd and died from over-use 
Of knives and forks, than ever fell in war 
By bloody sword and bayonet and ball. 

^Tlie Hunter rises and moves moay. 



INA. 1/3 

Don Carlos 

Why, what 's the haste ? You '11 reach there soon 
enough. 

Hunter. 
Reach where? 

Don Carlos. 

The Inn to which all earthly roads do tend ; 
The " neat apartments furnish'd — see within ; " 
The " furnish'd rooms for quiet, single gentlemen * " 
The narrow six-by-two where you will he 
With cold blue nose pointing up to the grass, 
Labell'd and box'd, and ready all for shipment. 
'Twas said of old that all roads led to Rome, 
But all roads now do lead to this small Inn. 
'Tis just so many leagues ahead of you. 
Why, then, make haste to cross the space between f 



£74 INA. 

Scene V. 
Lamonte's Camp-fire in the Mountains. 

Don Carlos, Lamonte, tlie Huntkr, and others, aaled 
around, smoking and telling tales of home and how they time 
to take to the Mountains. 

Old Lamonte, the mountaineer, lounging at one side, talking 
vfith the Young Hunter, and pointing out to him his new com- 
panions : — 

T GREET you welcome to these wild mountains, 

As will these my comrades at their good leisure. 
And now, meantime, that you '11 know them better, 
Yon fair-hair'd man, all in beaded buckskin 
And belt of wampum, now peering skyward. 
Is noble young Lucus, a heart-sick lover 
That has fled a coward from the shafts of Cupid, 
Fearing far less the red Indians' arrows. 
The man beyond him, thick-lipp'd and surly, 
'Tis said, is a patriot from merry old England 
Who took to these mountains for the o-ood of liis 

country. 
To the left, by the pine, is a doUarless marquis 
At talk with a scholar high-bred, of Oxford, 
Self-exiled, say, for some gay peccadillo. 



INA. ,175 

Beyond, in the shade, is a Southern gentleman 

Talking with one of his ten brown women. 

Til at black Kaniik, with his hair on his shouklers, 

lias herds and leagues on the North Red River, 

And wii^wams alive with olive-hued children. 

Over liere, with his pipe, is a though tfullest German, 

Profound, it is said, in his lore and letters, 

And silent in all of the tongues of Euroj^e. 

Yon fast young man, with a rose in his bosom, 

Is a Spaniard waiting for a dear relation 

To die, to come to his hard-earn'd fortune. 

And last I name is a long-nosed Yankee, 

Shrewdly watching to improve his chances, 

Ready to trade, trap, preach, or j^eddle. 

Sucli are the men of the rough Rocky Mountains, 

Not hairy monsters as some do pronounce us, 

But men blown up from the world's four quarters, 

Gentle or vicious, serene or savage, 

Common alone in undoubted courage. 

Hist ! list and learn, as they tell their adventures. 

A gray Frexchmax ends a tale thus : — 

Alas, the sight I saw that night ! 
Alas, that I should tremble here I 



176 INA. 

I know 'tis not a coward fear, 
And yet I shiver as in fright. 

The blue fields blossom'd yellow bloom 
Of brilliants set in purple gloom, 
A silver shield slid on and on 
Between me and the better land. 
And I was glad. I kiss'd my hand 
To melting stars and mellow moon — 
I left the full feast oversoon, 
And sought the peerless paragon. 
Gay jesting at her clever art 
In hiding in some sjDot unknown, 
I sought her, thought her mine, my own — 
I had despised a baser thought. 
I sought her as I would be sought 
With boundless faith and beating heart, 
Fill'd full of sweet uncertainties, 
Among the moonlit, fruited trees. 

Alas, the sight I saw that night 
Through striped bars of streaming light, 
And boughs that whispered plaintively 
In solemn symjDathy with me 1 



INA. 177 

A red dead leaf was in her hair, 
Full half a swelling breast was bare, 
And mad disorder everywhere. 
And, gliding through a thorny brake 
And sliding like a slimy snake, 
I saw him stooping steal away 
Like seipent caught in Paradise, 
That hid it from the face of day 
With guilty and unholy eyes. 

I saw a sight that night, that night, 
Because I could not help but see — 
Because the moon was bleached so white — 
Because the stars were yellow light — 
Because they blossom'd in a tree 
And dropp'd their blossoms on the grass — 
And saw because, alas, alas ! 
An evil spirit guided me. 

He was my friend. He ate my bread. 
He counsell'd very wise and well ; 
" I love you more than words can tell," 
He many and many a time had said. 
He suck'd the juices from my fruit 

12 



178 INA. 

And left for me the bitter rind. 
I am not crazed — it was unkind 
To suck the sweetness from my fruit 
And give me back the bitter rind. 

And did I curse or crush or kill ? 
Go down to yonder wooded gate, 
Go down, go down, it groweth late ; 
You hesitate and hesitate — 
I tremble as if in a chill. 

It open'd very wide that night, 
For two Avent through — but one retarn'd : 
And when its rusty hinges turn'd. 
They creak' d as if in pain or fright. 

Three finger-prints are on the bar — 
Three finger-prints of purple gore. 
You scan my hand — here, scan it more, 
And count my fingers o'er and o'er, 
You cannot see a sign of gore. 
I lost one finger in the war. 
And is it not an honor'd scar ? 



IN A. 17Q 

Don Carlos. 

Woman ! and still the sad burden is woman ! 
most valiant, most gallant gentleman, 
Frigbten'd from home by the flirt of a petticoat ! 
Well, sigh to the moon and delight in delusions. 
And dream that she too turns a pale face to heaven. 
r>;ih ! barely your shadow goes out from her threshold 
Before she is turning all smiles on another. 
But you, yon gray trapper there, storm-stained and 

grizzled, 
And gazing still dreamily into the fire. 
Sure you have a tale without burden of woman. 
Come, call your far thoughts from the mountain or 

plain, 
In the wars with the savage, and fight them again. 

The Trapper 

{Still gazing into ihefire^ and speaking in a low tone as if la 

himself). 

Back, backward to-night is memory traversing, 
Over the desert my weary feet travell'd, 
Thick with the wreck of my dear heart-idols 
And toppled columns of my ambition, 
Red with the best of my hot heart's purple. 



i8o IN A. 

This then is all of the sweet life she promised ; 
Tliis then is all of the fair life I painted ! 
Dead, ashen apples of the Dead-Sea border ! 
Ah yes, and worse by a thousand numbers, 
Since that can be lifted away as we will it, 
While desolate life with its dead hope buried 
CHngs on to the clay, though the soul despise it. 

Down under the hill and there under the fir-tree 
By the spring, and looking far out in the valley, 
She stands as she stood in the glorious Olden, 
Swinging her hat in her right hand dimpled. 
The other hand toys with a honey-suckle 
That has tiptoed up and is trying to kiss her. 
Her dark hair is tmning her neck and her temples 
As tendrils some beautiful Bahze marble. 



" O eyes of lustre and love and passion ! 

radiant fjice like the sea-shell tinted ! 
White cloud with the sunbeams tano-led in it ! " 

1 cried, as I stood in the dust beneath her, 

And gazed on the goddess my boy-heart worshipped 
With a love and a passion, a part of madness. 



INA. i8l 

" Drfiamer," she said, and a tinge of displeasure 
Swept over her face that I should disturb her, 
" All of the fair world is spread out before you ; 
Go down and possess it with love and devotion. 
And heart ever tender and touching as woman's, 
And life shall be fair as the first kiss of morning." 
I turn'd down the pathway, was blinded no longer : 
Another was coming, tall, manly, and bearded. 

I built me a shrine in the innermost temple — 
In the innermost rim of the heart's red centre — 
And placed her therein, sole possessor and priestess, 
And carved all her words on the walls of my temple. 
They say that he woo'd her there under the fir-tree, 
That he won her one eve, when the katydids mock'd 

her. 
He may have a maiden and call her Merinda ; 
But mine is the one that stands there for ever 
Leisurely swinging her hat by the ribbons. 

They say she is wedded. No, not my Merindaj 
For mine stands for ever there under the fir-tree 
Gazing and swinging her hat by the ribbons. 
They tell me her children reach u]) to my shoulder 



i82 INA. 

'Tis false. I did see lier down under the fir-tree 
V¥hen thcj stars were all busy a-weaving thin laces 
Made red with their gold and the moon's yellow tresses. 
Swinging her hat as in days of the Olden. 

True, that I spoke not nor ventured to touch her — 
Touch her ! I sooner would pluck the sweet Mary, 
The mother of Jesus, from arms of the priesthood, 
As they kneel at the altar in holy devotion ! 

And was it for this that my heart was kept tender, 
Fashion'd from thine, O sacristan maiden ? — 
That coarse men could pierce my warm heart to the 

purple ? 
That vandals could enter and burn out its freshness ? 
That rude men could trample it into the ashes ? — 
Oh was it for this that my heart was kept open ? 
I look'd in a glass, not the heart of my fellow, 
Whose was the white soul I saw there reflected ? 
But tramj^le the grape that the wine may flow freely ! 

Beautiful priestess, be with me for ever ! 
You still are secure. They know not your temple, 
They never can find it, nor pierce it, nor touch it, 



INA. 183 

Because in their hearts they know no such temple. 
I turned my back on them, a Seminole banished, 
Much indeed leaving in dark desolation, 
But bearino: one treasure alone that is dearer 
Than all they possess or have fiercely torn from me : 
A maiden that stands looking far down the valley 
Swinging her hat by its long, purple ribbons. 

Don Carlos. 
Worse and worse, and the burden still woman ! 
The crucifixion of rhyme and of reason, 
With the sweet Christ-truth bleeding dead between 

them ! 
Here you, young rover, or hunter, or poet, 
If you have wit, here 's a chance to show it ; 
Give us at least some rh}Tiies that jingle, 
Nor jar the soul till the senses tingle. 

HuxTEE (sings). 

Alone on this desolate border. 
On this ruggedest rimm'd frontier, 
Where the hills liuddle up in disorder 
Like a fold in mortal fear, 
Where the mountains are out at the elbow 



i84 INA. 

In their yellow coats seedy and sere, 
Where the river inins sullen and yellow, 
This dismallest day of the year. 

I go up and down on the gi-anite, 
Like an unholy ghost under bans. 

Christ ! for the eloquent quiet ! 
For the final folding of hands ! 
What am I ? Where arn I going, 

With these turbulent Avinds that are bio wine:? 
What sowing of wind in the lands, 
And what shall I reap from such sowing? 

1 look at the lizard that glides 
Up over the mossy boulders, 

With gTeen epaulets on his shoulders, 
And regiment-stripes on his sides. 

My feet are in dust to the ankles ; 
My heart, it is dustier still ; 
Will never the dust be levell'd 
Till the heart is laid under the hill ? 
i look at the sun sliding over, 
A cloud is swinoino; on hingfes 
And is trying his glory to cover. 



INA. i8s 



But see ! his beams in tlie fringes 
Are tangled and fastened in falling, 
And a sailor above ns is calling: 
" Untangle the ravels and fringes." 

In glim battle-lines up o'er us 
Gray, shapely ships are wheeling, 
Hulk, sail, and shroud revealing. 
A flash, a crash appalling, 
A hurhng of red-hot spears. 
Hark ! ten-ible thunder calling 
In fierce infernal chorus ! 
Now silver sails are falling 
Like silver sheens before us. 

What Nelson to fame aspires 
In the chartless bluer deep 
Where white ships toss and tack ? 
And what armed host appears ? 
Lo ! I have seen their fires 
In blue fields where they sleep 
At night, in the bivouac ; 
And they battle, bleed, and weep, 
For this rain is warm as tears. 



i86 INA. 

Oh! why was I ever a dreamer? 
Better a brute on the plain, 
Or one who believes his redeemer 
Is greed, and gold, and gain ; 
Or one who can riot and revel, 
Than be pierced by unbearable pain. 
With poesy darhng, in travail, 
That will not be born fi*om the brain, 

O bride by the breathing ocean, 
With lustrous and brimming eye. 
Pour out the Lethean potion 
Till a lustrum rolleth by. 
Lulling a soul's commotion. 
Plashing against the sky — 
Calming a living spectre 
With its two hands toss'd on high. 

Copie to me, darling, adorning 
Like Aurora the desolate region ; 
Come with step stately as morning. 
Or come like the march of a legion, 
Or come without caution or warning, 
Or come like the lordly tycoon, 



INA, 187 



Or in majesty like to the moon, 
But come, and come soon, over-soon. 

Ai'e the sea-winds mild and mellow 
Where my sun-brown'd babies are, 
A-weaving the silken and yellow 
Seam'd sunbeams over their hair? 
Go on and go on in disorder, 
O cloud with the silver-red rim, 
While tangled up in your bright border, 
The glinting silk sunbeams swim. 



Don Carlos {^yawning). 

Oh ! why indulge in such gipsy' jargon, 
Since maids must mock, and men slay to protect them 
A song like to this with a savagest silence ? 
I fear, young man, you mistake your calling ; 
Why not fall the forests, plant red potatoes ? 
Or what of the art of raising green pumpkins, 
And tall-topp'd corn with its silks of silver? 
Or may be some sheep could endure your measures 
On the Yamhill hills, if you must aspire. 
As you swing a crook, and so sweep your lyre. 



i88 IN A. 

Hunter. 

The bird sings in the busy sjDring, 
Tlie sea sings in his booming swells, 
And all his pink and pearly shells 
Sing of the sea, and ever sing. 
You break the shell or bear it far 
From ocean as the morning star, 
Yet still it sings, fast bound or fi-ee, 
In mellow measures, of the sea. 
And I shall sing and sing and sing, 
Sing ill or well, though men do chide. 
Until a hand in mine is laid 
To lead unto the other side. 
Afar a ploughbdy's song is heard. 
In chorus with the building bird, 
My song is his — his my reward. 

I heard a redbreast on the wall. 
And then I heard the truants' call. 
And cast a storm of earth and stone. 
He flew, and perch'd him far and lone, 
Above a rushing cataract, 
Where never living thing had track'd- 



IN A. 189 

Where mate nor man nor living thing 
Could ever heed or hear him sing ; 
And there he sang his song of spring, 
As if a world were listening. 
He sang because he could but sing, 
Sweet bird, for he was born to sing. 

A million hearts have felt as much 
As ever prince of poets told, 
"With souls that scorn'd a colder touch 
Than love refined to finest gold. 
Yet drove the team and turn'd the mould, 
And whistled sono-s and traoedies 
That would have thrill'd to rage or tears ; 
The beam and moon their lance and shield, 
A moat, the furrow deep and broad ; 
And lived content through all their years 
In one long paradise of peace. 
Unheard beyond their broken sod. 
And shall I then be less than these ? 

Tliey kept their fields', their flocks' increase, 
And walk'd their ideal world in peace. 
They would not drag it down to fit 



1 90 IN A, 

The mass of men with golden god — 
They could not drag man up to it, 
So lived and died without complain. 
All tuneless in their full refrain, 
They break in billows through the sod. 

A million poets God hath wrought ; 
But very few have made pretence, 
And fewer still found utterance ; 
For words are shackles unto thought, 
And fancies fetter'd down by words 
Droop dull and tame as prison'd birds, 
Lose all the bright hues of the sky, 
As does the clasped butterfly. 

[.4s (he Young Hunter concludes, Don Carlos apaiiy and 
looking down the mountain to the declining moon, con- 
tinues : — J 

Well, he would make you a good maid-servant ; 
1 could say, " She can come to you well recommended ; " 
For behold he has sung till they sleep most soundly. 
Tlie thin, sullen moon, pale-faced, and crooked 
As a half-starved kine, a most vicious heifer, 
Is sliding down in all haste from heaven, 



INA. 191 

To gore in the flank of yon sleeping mountain. 
My comrades sleep, and does sleep all Nature ; 
The world has a rest and a truce till to-morrow ; 
There is peace, and surcease of sin and of sorrow ; 
All things take rest but I — 

Hfntek. 

And I only, 
Vour minstrel and whilom your roving young hunter. 

[^Loosening his hair from his shoulders* 
Ah me ! My Don Carlos, look kindly upon me ! 
With my hand on your arm and my dark brow lilted 
Up level to yours, do you not now know me ? 
'Tis your own, own Ina, you loved by the ocean, 
In the warm-spiced winds fi'om the far Cathay. 
O welcome me now after all my struggles, 
And years of waiting and my weary journeys. 

Don Caklos (bitter!?/). 

" And he received her with his arms extended, 
And they were wedded, and lived long and happil y " — 
At least so runneth the oft-told story. 
But Hfe is prosy, and my soul uprises 
Against you, madam, as you stand before me 



192 IN A. 

With the smell of the deadman still upon you, 

An 1 your dark hair wet from his death-damp forehead 

Vou are not my Ina, for she is a memory, 

A marble chisell'd, in my heart's dark chamber 

Set up for ever, and nought can change her; 

And you are a stranger, and the gulf between us 

Is wide as the Plains, and as deep as Pacific. 

No ! lips blood-stain'd and your Umbs polluted 

Shall tempt me not from my lordly mountains. 

But now, good-by. In your serape folded, 
Hard by in the heat of the pine-knot fire, 
Sleep you as sound as you mil be secure ; 
And on the morrow — now mark me, madam — 
When to-morrow comes, why, you will turn you 
To the right or left as did Father Abram. 
Goo'l-night, for ever and for aye, good-by ; 
My bitter is sweet and your truth is a lie. 

IxA {letting go Jlis arm and stepping back). 

Well then ! 'tis over, and 'tis well thus ended ; 
I am Avell escaped fi-om my life's devotion. 
The waters of bliss are a waste of bitterness ; 
The day of joy I did join hands over, 



INA, 193 

As a bow of promise when my years were weary, 

And set high up as a brazen serpent 

To look upon when I else had fainted 

\\\ burning deserts, while you sipp'd ices 

And snowy sherbets, and roam'd unfetter'd, 

Is a deadly asp in the fruit and flowers 

That you in your bitterness now bring to me ; 

But its fangs unfasten and it gUdes down from me, 

From a Cleoj^atra of cold white marble. 

I have but done what I would do over, 
Did I find one worthy of so much devotion ; 
And, standing here with my clean hands folded 
Above a bosom whose crime is courage. 
The only regret that my heart discovers 
Is that I should do and have dared so greatly 
For the love of one who deserved so little. 
And as for my lips' and my limbs' jDollution, 
They are purer than any strong mane's new-wedded, 
Stain'd without purpose in his coarse brute-passion. 

Nay, say no more, nor attempt to approach me; 
This ten-feet line lying now between us 
Shall never be less while the land has measure. 

13 



194 INA. 

See ! night is forgetting the east in the heavens ; 
The birds pipe shrill and the beasts howl answer 
The red sun reaches his arms from the ocean, 
And the dusk and the dawn kiss hands good-by, 
But not for ever, as do you and I. 



THE TALE OF THE TALL ALCALDE. 



tihadoics thai shroud the to-morrow, 
Glists from the life that 's within. 

Traces of pain and of sorrow, 
And mat/be a trace of sin, 

Reachings for God in tlie darhiess. 
And for — ichat should have been. 



Stains from the gall and the loormwood, 

Memories bitter like myrrh, 
A sad, brown face in a fir-wood. 

Blotches of hearfs blood here. 
But never the sound of a wailing. 

Never the sign of a tear. 



THE TALE OF THE TALL ALCALDE. 

Thou Italy of the Occident ! 

Land of flowers and summer climes, 

Of holy priests and horrid crimes; 

Land of the cactus and sweet cocoa; 

Richer than all the Orient 

In gold and glory, in want and woe, 

In self-denial, in days misspent. 

In truth and treason, in good and guilt. 

In ivied ruins and altars low. 

In batter'd walls and blood misspilt; 

Glorious, gory Mexico! 

TT 7'HERE mountains repose in their blueness, 
Where the sun first lands in his newness, 
And marshals his beams and his lances, 
Ere down to the vale he advances 
With visor erect, and rides swiftly 
On the terrible night in his w^ay. 
And slays him, and, daring and deftly, 
flews from him the beautiful day 
With his flashing sword of silver, — 
Lay nestled the town of Renalda, 
Far known for its famous Alcalde, 
The judge of the mountain mine, 
With a heart like the heart of woman, 



198 THE TALE OF THE 

And humanity more than human ; 
And famed for its maids and silver, 
Rich mines and its mountain wine. 

And the royalest feast of the year was given, 
The yearly feast in commemoration 
Of the Holy Mary's Annunciation ; 
And the ears of night were rent and riven 
By turbulent men made stormy with wine — 
Wine by virgins press'd fi'om the vine, 
Wine like gold from the San Diego, 
Wine blood-red from the Saint Bennetto, 
White and yellow and ruddy-red wine. 
And the feast was full, and the guests afire, 
For the shaven priest and the j^ortly squire, 
The solemn judge and the smiling dandy, 
The duke and the don and the commandante, 
All sat, and shouted or sang divine, 
Sailing in one great sea of ^vine ; 
And, roused, red-crested knight Chanticleer 
Answer' d and echo'd their song and cheer. 

They boasted of broil, encounter, and battle, 
Tliey boasted of maidens most cleverly won, 



TALL ALCALDE. 199 

Boasted of duels most valiantly done, 

Of leagues of land and of herds of cattle, 

These men at the feast up in fair Renalda. 

All boasted but one, the culm Alcalde, 

Who sat stone-still in the wild wassail. 

Though hard they press'd from first of the feast, 

Press'd commandante, press'd poet and priest, 

To tell, as the others, his own life's tale ; 

And steadily still the attorney press'd, 

With lifted glass and his face aglow, 

Heedless of host and careless of guest — 

" A tale ! the tale of your life, so ho ! 

For not one man in all Mexico 

Can trace your history a half decade." 

A hand on the rude one's lips was laid : 

" Sacred, my son," a priest wont on, 

" Sacred the secrets of every one. 

Inviolate as an altar-stone. 

But what in the life of one who must 

Have been so pure to be so just, 

Have lived a life that is half divine — 

What can there be, O advocate, 

In the life of one so desolate 

Of luck with matron, or love with maid. 



200 THE TALE OF THE 

Midnight revel or escapade, 

To stir the wonder of men at wine ? 

But should the Alcalde choose, you know," — 

(And here his voice fell soft and low 

As he set his wine-horn in its place, 

And look'd in the judge's care-worn face) — 

" To weave ns a tale that points a moral, 

Out of his vivid imagination. 

Of lass or of love, or lovers' quaiTel, 

Naught of his fame or name or station 

Shall lose in lustre by its relation." 

Softly the judge set down his horn, 
Kindly look'd on the priests all shorn. 
And gazed in the eyes of the advocate 
With a touch of pity, but none of hate ; 
Then look'd down into the brimming horn, 
Half defiant and half forlorn. 

Was it a tear ? Was it a sigh ? 
Was it a glance of the priest's black eye ? 
Or was it the drunken revel-cry 
That smote the rock of his frozen heart 
And forced his pallid lips apart ? 



FALL ALCALDE, 201 

Or was it the weakness like to woman 

Yearning for sympathy 

Through the dark years, 

Spurning the secrecy, 

Burning for tears, 

Proving him human, — 

As he said to the men of the silver mme, 

With their eyes held up as to one divine. 

With his eyes held down to his untouched wine 

" It might have been where moonbeams kneel 
At night beside some rugged steep ; 
It might have been where breakers reel, 
Or mild waves cradle men to sleep ; 
It might have been in peaceful life. 
Or mad tumult and storm and strife, 
I drew my breath ; it matters not. 
A silver'd head, a sweetest cot, 
A sea of tamarack and pine, 
A })eaceful stream, a balmy clime, 
A cloudless sky, a sister's smile, 
A mother's love, that sturdy time 
Has strengthened as he strengthens wine, 
Are mine, are with me all the while, 



202 THE TALE OF THE 

Are hung in memory's sounding halls, 
Are graven on her glowing walls. 
But rage, nor rack, nor wrath of man, 
Nor prayer of priest, nor price, nor baa 
Can wring from me their j^lace or name, 
Or why, or when, or whence I came ; 
Or why I left that childhood home, 
A child of form yet old of soul. 
And sought the wilds where tempests roll 
Round mountains white as driven foam. 

" Mistaken and misunderstood, 
My hot magnetic heart sought round 
And craved of all the souls I knew 
But one responsive throb or touch. 
Or thrill that flashes throuo-h and throuo'h ■ 
Deem you that I demanded much ? — 
Not one congenial soul was found. 
I sought a deeper wild and Avood, 
A girlish form and a childish face, 
A wild waif drifting from place to place. 

" Oh for the skies of rolling blue, 
The balmy hours when lovers woo, 



TALL ALCALDE. 203 

When the moon is doubled as in desire, 
The dreamy call of the cockatoo 
From the orange snow in his crest of fire. 
Like vespers calling the soul to bliss 
In the blessed love of the life above, 
Ere it has taken the stains of this ! 

*' The world afar, yet at my feet, 
Went steadily and sternly on ; 
I almost fancied I could meet 
The crush and bustle of the street, 
When from the mountain I look'd down. 
And deep down in the canon's mouth 
The long-tom ran and pick-axe rang, 
And pack-trains coming from the south 
Were stringing round the mountain high 
In long gray lines, as wild geese fly. 
While mul'teers shouted hoarse and high, 
And dusty, dusky mul'teers sang — 
' Seiiora with the liquid eye ! 
No floods can ever quench the flame, 
Or frozen snows my passion tame, 
Jouaiia with the coal-black eye ! 
O senorita, bide a bye I ' 



204 THE TALE OF THE 

" Environed by a mountain wall, 
So fierce, so terrible and tall, 
It never yet had been defiled 
By track or trail, save by the wild 
Free children of the wildest wood — 
A wood that roll'd a sullen flood, 
A sea that broke in snowy foam 
Where everlasting glaciers rest, 
Where stars and tempests have a home, 
And clouds are curl'd in mad unrest 
And whirl'd and swirl'd by crag and crest, 
An unkiss'd virgin at my feet. 
Lay my pure, hallow'd, dreamy vale. 
Where breathed the essence of my tale — 
Lone dimple in the mountain's face, 
Lone Eden in a boundless waste — 
It lay so beautiful ! so sweet ! 

" There in the sun's decline I stood 
By God's form wrought in pink and pearl, 
My peerless, dark-eyed Indian girl ; 
And gazed out fi*om a fringe of wood. 
With full-fed soul and feasting eyes, 
Upon an earthly paradise. 



TALL ALCALDE. 205 

Inclining to the soutli it lay, 

And long leagues southward roU'd away, 

Until the sable-feather'd pines 

And tanoied boug^hs and amorous vines 

Closed like besiegers on the scene, 

The while the stream that intertwined 

Had barely room to flow between. 

It was unlike all other streams. 

Save those seen in sweet summer dreams \ 

For sleeping in its bed of snow 

Nor rock nor stone was ever known, 

But only shining, shifting sands, 

For ever sifted by unseen hands. 

It curved, it bent like Indian bow. 

And like an arrow darted through, 

Yet utter'd not a sound nor breath. 

Nor broke a ripple from the start ; 

It was as swift, as still as death, 

Yet was so clear, so pure, so sweet. 

It wound its way into your heart 

As through the grasses at your feet. 

" Once, through the tall untangled grass, 
I saw two black bears careless pass, 
And in the twilight turn to play ; 



2o6 THE TALE OF THE 

I caught my rifle to my face, 
She chid me with a quiet grace 
And said, ' Not so, for us the day, 
The night belongs to such as they.' 

" And then ii'om out the shadow'd wood 
The antler'd deer came stalking down 
In half a shot of where I stood ; 
Then stopp'd and stamp'd impatiently. 
Then shook his head and antlers high. 
And then his keen horns backward threw 
Upon his shoulders broad and brown, 
And thrust his muzzle in the air, 
Snuff 'd proudly ; then a blast he blew 
As if to say, No danger here. 
And then from out the sable wood 
His mate and two sweet dappled fawns 
Stole forth, and by the monarch stood, 
She timid, while the little ones 
Would start like aspens in a gale. 
Then he, as if to reassure 
The timid, trembling, and demure, 
Again his antlers backward threw, 
Again a blast defiant blew, 
Then led them proudly down the vale. 



TALL ALCALDE. 207 

" I watch'd the forms of darkness come 
Slow stealing from their sylvan home, 
And pierce the sunlight drooj^ing low 
And weary, as if loath to go. 
He stain'd the lances as he bled, 
And, bleeding and pursued, he fled 
Across the vale into the wood. 
I saw the tall gi-ass bend its head 
Beneath the stately martial tread 
Of the pursuer and piirsued. 

" ' Behold the clouds,' Winnema said, 
' All pm-ple with the blood of day ; 
The night has conquer'd in the fray, 
The shadows live, and light is dead.' 

" She tum'd to Shasta gi*acefully, 
Around whose hoar and mighty head 
Still roU'd a sunset sea of red, 
While troops of clouds a space below 
Were drifting wearily and slow. 
As seeking shelter for the night. 
Like weary sea-birds in their flight ; 
Then curved her right arm gi'acefully 
Above her brow, and bow'd her knee 



2o8 THE TALE OF THE 

And chanted in an unknown tongue 
Words sweeter than were ever sung. 

" ' And what means this ? ' I gently said. 
' I S2:)oke to God, the Yopitone, 
Who dwells on yonder snowy throne,' 
She softly said, with drooping head ; 
* I bow'd to God. He heard my prayer, 
I felt his warm breath in my hair. 
He heard me my desires tell. 
And he is good, and all is well.' 

" The dappled and the dimpled skies, 
The timid stars, the tinted moon. 
All smiled as sweet as sun at noon. 
Her eyes were like the rabbit's eyes. 
Her mien, her manner, j iist as mild. 
And, though a savage war-chief's child, 
She would not harm the lowliest worm. 
And though her beaded foot was firm. 
And though her airy step was true, 
She would not crush a di-op of dew. 

" Her love was deeper than the sea^ 
And stronger than the tidal rise, 



TALL ALCALDE. 709 

And clung in all its strength to me. 
A face like hers is never seen 
This side the gates of paradise, 
Save in some Indian-Summer scene, 
And then none ever sees it twice — 
Is seen but once, and seen no more, 
Seen but to tempt the sceptic soul, 
And show a sample of the whole 
That Heaven has in store. 

" You might have pluck'd beams from the 
moon, 
Or torn the shadow from the pine 
When on its dial track at noon, 
But not have parted us an hour, 
She was so wholly, truly mine. 
And life was one unbroken dream 
Of purest bhss and calm delight, 
A flow'ry-shored untroubled stream 
Of sun and song, of shade and bower, 
A ftiU-moon'd serenading night. 

" Sweet melodies were in the air, 
And tame birds caroll'd everywhere, 
14 



210 THE TALE OF THE 

I liston'd to the lisping gi'ove 
And cooing pink-eyed turtle-dove, 
And, loving with the holiest love, 
Believing, with a grand belief, 
That every thing beneath the skies 
Was beautiful and born to love, 
That man had but to lovej believe, 
And earth would be a paradise 
As beautiful as that above. 
My goddess, Beauty, I adored, 
Devoutly, fervid, her alone ; 
My Priestess, Love, unceasing pour'd 
Pure incense on her altar-stone. 

" I carved my name in coarse design 
Once on a birch down by the way, 
At which she gazed, as she would say, 
' What does this say ? What is this sign ? 
And when I gayly said, ' Some day 
Some one will come and read my name, 
And I will live in song and fame. 
As he who first found this sweet vale, 
Entwined with many a mountain tale. 
And they will give the place my name,' 



TALL ALCALDE. 211 

She was most sad, and troubled much, 
And look'd in silence far away ; 
Then started trembling from my touch, 
And when she turn'd her face again, 
I read unutterable pain. 

" At last she answer'd through her tears, 
' Ah ! yes ; this, too, fulfils my fears. 
Yes, they will come — my race must go 
As fades a vernal fall of snow ; 
And you be known, and I forgot 
Like these brown leaves that rust and x(A 
Beneath my feet ; and it is well : 
I do not seek to thrust my name 
On those who here, hereafter, dwell, 
Because I have before them divelt ; 
They too A^dll have their tales to tell, 
They too will ask their time and fame. 

"'Yes, they will come, come even nows 
The dim ghosts on yon mountain's brow, 
Gray Fathers of my tribe and race. 
Do beckon to us from their place, 
And hurl red arrows through the air 
At night, to bid our braves beware. 



212 THE TALE OF THE 

A foot-print by the clear McOloud, 
Unlike aught ever seen before, 
Is seen. The crash of rifles loud 
Is heard along its farther shore.' 



" What tall and tawny men were these^ 
As sombre, silent, as the trees 
They moved among ! and sad some way 
With tempered sadness, ever they, — 
Yet not with soitow born of fear. 
The shadow of theu* destinies 
They saw approaching year by year. 
And murmured not. They saw the sun 
Go down ; they saw the peaceful moon 
Move on in silence to her rest. 
And white streams winding to the west : 
And thus they knew that oversoon, 
Somehow, somewhere, for every one 
Was rest beyond the setting sun. 
They knew not, never dreamed, a doubt, 
But turned to death as to a sleep. 
And died with eager hands held out 
To reaching hands beyond the deejj, — 



TALL ALCALDE. i\x 

And died with choicest bow at hand, 
And quiver full, and arrow di'awn 
For use, when sweet to-morrow's dawn 
Should wake them in the Spirit Land, 

" What wonder that I hngered there 
With Nature's chikiren ! Could I part 
With those that met me heart to heart, 
And made me welcome, spoke me fair, 
Were first of all that understood 
My waywardness from others' ways, 
My worship of the true and good, 
And earnest love of Nature's God, 
Now that their dark days gathered near, 
And came calamity and fear? 
O idle men of empty days, 
Go court the mountains in the clouds, 
And clashing thunder, and the shrouds 
Of tempests, and eternal shocks. 
And fast and pray as one of old 
In earnestness, and ye shall hold 
The mysteries ; shall hold the rod 
That passes seas, that smites the focka 
Where streams of melody and song 



214 THE TALE OF THE 

Shall run as white streams rush and flow 
Down fi'om the mountains' crests of snow, 
Forever, to a thirsting throng. 

" Between the white man and the red 
There lies no neutral, half-way ground. 
I heard afar the thunder sound 
That soon should burst above my head, 
And made my choice ; I laid my plan, 
And child-like chose the weaker side ; 
And ever have, and ever will, 
While might is wrong and wrongs remain, 
As careless of the world as I 
Am careless of a cloudless sky. 
With wayward and romantic joy 
I gave my pledge like any boy. 
But kept my promise like a man. 
And lost ; yet with the lesson still 
Would gladly do the same again. 

"* They come! they come! the pale-face come ! 
The chieftain shouted where he stood 
Sharp watching at the margin wood, 
And gave the war-whoop's treble yell. 



TALL ALCALDE. 215 

That like a knell on fair hearts fell 
Far watching from their rocky home. 

*" No nodding plumes or banners fair 
Unfurl'd or fretted through tlie air ; 
No screaming fife or rolling drum 
Did challenge brave of soul to come : 
But, silent, sinew-bows were strung, 
And, sudden, heavy quivers hung, 
And, swiftly, to the battle sprung 
Tall painted braves with tufted hair. 
Like death-black banners in the air. 

'' And long they fought, and firm and well 
And silent fought, and silent fell. 
Save when they gave the fearful yell 
Of death, defiance, or of hate. 
But what were feather'd flints to fate ? 
And what were yells to seething lead ? 
And what the few and feeble feet 
To troops that came with martial tread, 
And stood by wood and hill and stream 
As thick as people in a street. 
As strange as spirits in a di'eam ? 



ai6 THE TALE OF THE 

" From pine and poplar, here and there, 
A cloud, a flash, a crash, a thud, 
A wanior's garments roll'd in blood, 
A yell that rent the mountain air 
Of fierce defiance and despair. 
Did tell who fell, and when and where. 
Then tighter drew the coils around, 
And closer grew the battle-ground, 
And fewer feather'd arrows fell. 
And fainter grew the battle yell, 
Until upon the hill was heard 
The short, sharp whistle of the bird, 

" The calm, that cometh after all, 
Look'd sweetly down at shut of day, 
Where friend and foe commingled lay 
Like leaves of forest as they fall. 
Afar the sombre mountains fi-own'd, 
Here tall pines wheel'd their shadows round 
Like long, slim fingers of a hand 
That sadly pointed out the dead. 
Like some broad shield high overhead 
The great white moon led on and on, 
As leading to the better land. 



TALL ALCALDE. 217 

You might have heard the cricket's trill, 
Or night-birds calling from the hill, 
The place was so profoundly still. 

" The mighty chief at last was down, 
The broken breast of brass and pride ! 
The hair all dust, the brow a-frown, 
And proud mute lips compress'd in hate 
To foes, yet all content with fate ; 
While, circled round him thick, the foe 
Had folded hands in dust, and died. 
His tomahawk lay at his side. 
All blood, beside his broken bow. 
One arm stretch'd out as over-bold, 
One hand half doubled hid in dust. 
And clutch'd the earth, as if to liold 
His hunting-grounds still in his trust. 

" Here tall srrass boAvM its tassel'd head 
In dewy tears above the dead, 
And there they lay in ci-ooked fern, 
That waved and wept above by turn ; 
And further on, by sombre trees. 
They lay, wild heroes of wildest deeds, 



»i8 THE TALE OF THE 

In shrouds alone of weeping weeds, 
Bound in a never-to-be-broken peace. 

"Not one had falter'd, not one brave 
Survived the fearful struggle, save 
One — save I the renegade, 
The red man's friend, and — they held me so 
For this alone — the white man's foe. 
And I sat bound, a stone on stone. 
And waked and watched alone ; alone 
I looked on all, asleep or dead : 
Watched dead and living undisraay'd 
Through gory hair with lifted head. 

" They bore me bound for many a day 
Through fen and wild, by foamy flood, 
From my dear mountains far away, 
Where an adobe prison stood 
Beside a sultry, sullen town. 
With iron eyes and stony frown ; 
And in a dark and narrow cell. 
So hot it almost took my breath, 
And seem'd but an outpost of hell, 
They tlirust me — as if I had been 



TALL ALCALDE, 219 

A monster, in a monster's den. 

I cried aloud, I courted death, 

I caird unto a strip of sky, 

The only thing beyond my cell 

That I could see ; but no reply 

Came but the echo of my breath. 

I paced — how long I cannot tell — 

My reason fail'd, I knew no more, 

And swooning fell upon the Hoor. 

Then months went on, till deep one night. 

When Ions: thin bars of lunar li»ht 

Lay shimmering along the floor. 

My senses came to me once more. 

" My eyes look'd full into her eyes — 
Into her soul so true and tried. 
I thought myself in paradise. 
And wonder'd when she too had died. 
And then I saw the striped light 
Til at struggled past the prison bar, 
And in an instant, at the sight, 
My sinking soul fell just as far 
As could a star loosed by ajar 
From out the setting in the ring. 



220 THE TALE OF THE 

The purpled, semi-circled ring 
That seems to circle us at niGcht. 

" She saw my senses had return'd, 
Then swift to press my pallid face — 
Then, as if spurn'd, she sudden turn'd 
Her sweet face to the prison wall ; 
Her bosom rose, her hot tears fell 
Fast, as drip moss-stones in a well, 
And then, as if subduing all 
In one stronor struo-jrle of the soul. 
Be what they were of vows or fears, 
With kisses and hot scalding tears, 
There in that deadly, loathsome place. 
She bathed my bleach'd and bloodless fa*3e. 

" I was so weak T could not speak 
Or press my pale lips to her cheek ; 
I only look'd my wish to share 
The secret of her presence there. 
Then lookinjr throusrh her fallinor hair. 
Still sadder — so that face appears. 
Seen through the tears and blood of years — 
Than Pocahontas bathed in toai-s, 



TALL ALCALDE. 221 

She press'd lier finger to her lips, . 

More sweet than sweets tlie brown bee sips. 

More sad than any grief untold, 

More silent than the milk-white moon, 

She turn'd away. I heard unfold 

An iron door, and she was gone. 

" At last, one midnight, I was free ; 
Again I felt the liquid air 
Around my hot brow like a sea, 
Sweet as my dear Madonna's prayer, 
Or benedictions on the soul ; 
Pure air, which God gives free to all, 
Aeain I breathed without control — 
Pure air, that man would fain enthral ; 
God's air, Avhich man hath seized and sold 
Unto his fellow-man for gold. 

" I bow'd down to the bended sky, 
I toss'd my two thin hands on high, 
I call'd unto the crooked moon, 
I shouted to the shining stars. 
With breath and rapture uncontroU'd, 
Like some wild school-boy loosed at noon, 



222 THE TALE OF THE 

Or comrade coming from the wars. 
Hailing his companeers of old. 

" Short time for shouting or delay, — 
The cock is shrill, the east is gray, 
Pursuit is made, I must away. 
They cast me on a sinewy steed, 
And bid me look to girth and guide — 
A caution of but little need, 
For I on Sacramento's plain, 
When mounted warriors thunder'd by 
And train'd their barbs to face or fly. 
Once sprang upon the stoutest steed 
That swept unmaster'd through the band. 
Fierce and unbridled, wild and bare 
As fabled wing'd steed of the air. 
And, clutching to his tossing mane, 
Swept onward like a hurricane. 
And, guiding him with heel and hand. 
Lay like a shadow to his side, 
And hurl'd the lance at topmost speed 
Beneath the arch'd neck of my steed. 
And pierced the cactus targe that stood 
An imaged foe against the wood, 



TALL ALCALDE, 223 

And heard the shouts of savage pride 

I dash the h*on m Ins side, 

Swift as the shooting stars I ride ; 

I turn, I see, to ray dismay, 

A silent rider red as they ; 

I glance again — it is my bride, 

My love, my life, rides at my side. 

" ^y gulch and gorge and brake and all. 
Swift as the shining meteors fall, 
We fly, and never sound nor word 
But ringing mustang-hoofs is heard, 
And limbs of steel and lungs of steam 
Could not be stronger than theirs seem. 
Grandly as some joyous dream. 
League on league, and hour on hour, 
Far from keen pursuit, or power 
Of sheriff or bailiff, high or low. 
Into the bristlins; hills we fjo. 

" Into the snowy-hair'd McCloud, 
White as the foldings of a shroud ; 
We dash into the dashing stream, 
We breast the tide, Ave drop the rein. 



324 THE TALE OF THE 

We clutch the streaming, tangled mane — 
And yet the rider at my side 
Has never look nor word replied. 

" Out in its foam, its rush, its roar, 
Breasting away to the farther shore ; 
Steadily, bravely, gain'd at last, 
Gain'd, where never a dastard foe 
Has dared to come, or friend to go 
Pursuit is baffled and danger pass'd. 

" Under an oak whose wide anns were 
Lifting alofti, as if in prayer, 
Under an oak, where the shining moon 
Like feather'd snow in a winter noon 
Quiver'd, sifted, and diifted down 
In spars and bars on her shoulders brown . 
And yet she was as silent still 
As black stones toppled from the hill — 
Great basalt blocks that near us lay, 
Deep nestled in the gi'ass untrod 
By aught save wild beasts of the wood — 
Great, massive, squared, and chisell'd stone, 
Like columns that had toppled down 



TALL ALCALDE. 225 

From temple dome or tower crown, 

Along some drifted, silent way 

Of desolate and desert town 

Built by the children of the sun. 

And I in silence sat on one, 

And she stood gazing far away 

To where her childhood forests lay, 

Still as the stone I sat upon. 

And through the leaves the silver moon 

Fell sifting down in silver bars 

And play'd upon her raven hair. 

And darted through like dimpled stars 

That dance throuoh all the nis^ht's sweet noon 

To echoes of an unseen choir. 

" I sought to catch her to my breast 
And charm her from her silent mood ; 
She shrank as if a beam, a breath. 
Then silently before me stood, ■ 
Still, coldly, as the kiss of death. 
Her face was darker than a pall, 
Her presence was so proudly tall, 
I would have started fi-om the stone 
Where I sat gazing up at her, 

15 



226 THE TALE OF THE 

As from a form to earth unkno^vn, 
Had I possessed the power to stir. 

" ' O touch me not, no more, no more ; 
'Tis past, and my sweet dream is o'er. 
Impm-e! Impm-e! Impure!' she cried, 
In words as sweetly, weirdly wild 
As mingling of a rippled tide. 
And music on the Avaters spill'd. 
* Pollution foul is on my limbs, 
And poison lingers on my lips ; 
My red heart sickens, hot head swims, 
1 burn unto my finger-tips. 
But you are free. Fly ! Fly alone. 
Yes, you will win another bride 
In some far clime where naught is known 
Of all that you have won or lost, 
Or what your life this night has cost ; 
Will wm you name, and place, and power, 
And ne'er recall this face, this hour. 
Save in some secret, deep regret. 
Which I forgive and you '11 forget. 
Your destiny will lead you on 
Where, open'd wide to welcome yon, 



TALL ALCALDE. 227 

Rich, gushing hearts and bosoms are, 

And snowy arras, more purely fair, 

And breasts — who dare say breasts more true 

When all this dear night's deeds are done ? 

" ' They said you had deserted me, 
Had rued you of your wood and wild. 
I knew, I knew it could not be, 
I trusted as a trustino; child. 
I cross'd the bristled mountain hish 
That curves its rough back to the sky, 
I rode the white-maned mountain flood. 
And track'd for weeks the trackless wood. 
The good God led me. as before. 
And brought me to your prison-door. 

"*That madden'd call! that fever'd moan I 
1 heard you in the midnight call 
My own name through the massive wall. 
In my sweet mountain-tongue and tone — 
And yet you call'd so feebly wild, 
I near mistook you for a child. 
The keeper with his clinking keys 
I sought, implored upon ray knees 



228 THE TALE OF THE 

That I might see you, feel your breath. 
Your brow, or breathe you low replies 
Of comfort in your lonely death. 
His red face shone, his redder eyes 
Were like the fire of the skies, 
And all his face was as a fire, 
As he said, " Yield to my desire." 
Again I heard your feeble moan, 
I cried, " And must he die alone ? " 
I cried unto a heart of stone. 
Ah ! why the hateful horrors tell ? 
Enough ! I crept into your cell 
Polluted, loathed, a wretched thing, 
An ashen fruit, a poison' d spring. 

" ' I nursed you, lured you back to life, 
And when you woke and call'd me wife 
And love, with pale lips rife 
With love and feeble loveliness, 
I turn'd away, I hid my face, 
In mad reproach and deep distress. 
In dust down in that loathsome place. 

" ' And then I vow'd a solemn vow 
That you should live, live and be free. 



TALL ALCALDE, 229 

And you have lived — are free ; and now 

Too slow yon red sun comes to see 

My life or death, or me again. 

Oh the peril and the pain 

I have endured ! the dark stain 

That I did take on my fair soul, 

All, all to save you, make you free, 

Are more than mortal can endure : 

But fire makes the foulest pure. 

"'Behold this finish'd funeral pyre, 
All ready for the form and fire. 
Which these, my own hands, did prepare 
For this last night ; then lay me there. 
I would not hide me from my God 
Beneath the cold and sullen sod. 
And ever from the circled sun, 
As if in shame for evil done. 
But, wrapped in fiery, shining shroud, 
Ascend to Him, a wreathing cloud.' 

" She paused, she turn'd, she lean'd apace 
Her glance and half-regi-etting face, 
As if to yield herself to me j 



230 THE TALE OF THE 

And then she cried, ' It cannot be, 
For I have vow'd a solemn vow, 
And God heljD me to keep it now ! ' 

*' I sj^rang with anus extended wide 
To catch her to my burning breast ; 
She caught a dagger fi-om her side 
And plunged it to its silver hilt 
Into her hot and bursting heart, 
And fell into my arms and died — 
Died as my soul to hers was press' d. 
Died as I held her to my breast, 
Died without one word or moan, 
And left me with my dead — alone. 

" But why the dreary tale prolong i 
And deem you I confess'd me wi'ong 
That I did bend a patient knee 
To all the deep wrongs done to me 
That I, because the prison-mould 
Was on my brow, and all its chill 
Was in my heart as chill as night, 
Till soul and body both were cold, 
Did curb my free-bom mountain will 
And sacrifice my sense of right ? 



TALL ALCALDE. 2^1 

** No ! no ! and had they come that day 
While I with hands and garmeDls red 
Stood by her pleading, gory clay, 
The one lone watcher by my dead. 
With cross-hilt dagger in my hand. 
The every white lord of the land 
Who wore a badge or claim'd command. 
And offer'd me my life and all 
Of titles, power, or of place, 
I should have spat them in the face. 
And spiirn'd them every one. 
I live as God gave me to live, 
I see as God gave me to see. 
'Tis not my nature to forgive. 
Or cringe and plead, and bend the kne» 
To God or man in woe or weal. 
In penitence I cannot feel. 

" I do not question school nor cread 
Of Christian, Protestant, or Priest; 
I only know that creeds to me 
Are but new names for mystery, 
That God is good from east to east, 
And moj'c I do not know nor need 



232 THE TALE OF THE 

To know, to love my neighbor well. 
I take their dogmas, as they tell, 
Their pictm-es of their Godly good, 
In orarments thick with heathen blood 
Their heaven with its harps of gold. 
Their horrid pictures of their hell, 
Take hell and heaven undenied. 
Yet were the two placed side by side, 
Placed full before me for my choice. 
As they are pictured, best and worst. 
As they are peopled, tame and bold, 
The canonized, and the accursed 
Who dared to think, and thinking spv .k. 
And speaking act, bold cheek to chee) , 
I would in transports choose the first. 
And enter hell with lifted voice. 

" I laid my dead ujjon the pile. 
And underneath the lisping oak 
I watch'd the columns of dark smoke 
Embrace her red lips, with a smile 
Of fi-enzied fierceness. Then there v ame 
A gleaming column of red flame, 
That grew a grander monument 



TALL ALCALDE. 233 



Above her nameless noble mould, 
Than ever bronze or marble lent 
To king or conqueror of old. 

" It seized her in its hot embrace, 
And leapt as if to reach the stars. 
Then looking up I saw a face 
So saintly and so sweetly fair, 
So sad, so pitying, and so j^ure, 
I nigh forgot the prison bars, 
And for one instant, one alone, 
I felt I could forgive, endure. 

" I laid a circlet of white stone. 
And left her ashes there alone. 
But after many a white moon-wane 
I sought that sacred ground again. 
And saw the circle of white stone 
With tall wild grasses overgrown. 
I did expect, I know not why. 
From out her sacred dust to find 
Wild pinks and daisies blooming fair ; 
And when I did not find them there 
I almost deem'd her God unkind, 
Less careful of her dust than L 



234 THE TALE OF THE 

" Then when the red shafts of the sun 
Came tipj^ing down to where I stood, 
I hail'd them with a redder one, 
A lifted dagger red "wdth blood, 
And vow'd to dedicate my breath 
To vengeance, for disgrace and death. 



** Go read the annals of the North, 
And records there of many a wail. 
Of marshalling and going forth 
For missing sheriffs, and for men 
Who fell, and none knew where nor when, — 
Who disappear'd on mountain trail, 
Or in some dense and narrow vale. 
Go, traverse Trinity and Scott, 
That curve their dark backs to the sun : 
Go, court them all. Lo ! have they not 
The chronicles of my wild life ? 
My secrets on their lips of stone, 
My archives built of human bone ? 
Go, cross their wilds as I have done, ^ 

From snowy crest to sleej)ing vales, 



l^ALL ALCALDE. 235 



And you will find on every one 
Enough to swell a thousand tales. 



"The soul cannot survive alone, 
And hate will die, like other things ; 
I felt an ebbing in my rage, 
I hunger'd for the sound of one, 
Just one familiar word, — 
Yearn'd but to hear my fellow speak, 
Or sound of woman's mellow tone, 
As beats the wild, imprisoned bird. 
That long nor kind nor mate has heard. 
With bleedins: wing:s 
And panting beak 
Against its iron cage. 

" I saw a low-roof 'd rancho lie, 
Far, far below, at set of sun. 
Along the foot-hills crisp and dun — 
A lone sweet star in lower sky ; 
Saw children sporting to and fro. 
The busy housewife come and go, 
And white cows come at her command, 
And none look'd larger than my hand. 



tsf> THE TALE OF THE 

Then worn and torn, and tann'd and brown, 
And heedless all, I hasten'd down ; 
A wanderer wandering long and late, 
I stood before the rustic gate. 

" Two little girls, with brown feet bare. 
And tangled, tossing, yellow hair, 
Play'd on the green, fantastic dress'd. 
Around a great Newfoundland brute 
That lay half-resting on his breast. 
And with his red mouth open'd wide 
Would make believe that he would bite, 
As they assail'd him left and right. 
And then sprang to the other side. 
And fill'd with shouts the willing air. 
Oh sweeter far than lyre or lute 
To my then hot and thirsty heart. 
And better self so wholly mute. 
Were those sweet voices callino; there. 



o 



"Though some s^veet scenes my eyes have seen, 
Some melody my soul has heard. 
No song of any maid, or bird. 
Or splendid wealth of tropic scene, 



TALL ALCALDE. 237 

Or scene or song of anywhere, 
Has my impulsive soul so stirr'd, 
Or touch 'd and thrill'd my every part. 
Or fill'd me with such sweet delight, 
As those young angels sporting there. 

" The dog at sight of me arose, 
And nobly stood, with lifted nose, 
Afrout the children, now so still. 
And staring at me with a will. 
* Come in, come in,' the rancher cried. 
As here and there the housewife hied ; 
' Sit down, sit down, you travel late. 
What news of politics or war ? 
And are you tired ? Go you far ? 
And where you from ? Be quick, my Kate, 
This boy is sure in need of food.' 
The little children close by stood. 
And watch'd and gazed inquiringly. 
Then came and climb'd upon my knee. 

" ' That there 's my ma,' the eldest said, 
And laugh'd and toss'd her pretty head ; 
And then, half bating of her joy, 



258 THE TALE OF THE 

* Have you a ma, you stranger boy ? — 
And there hansjs Carlo on the wall 
As large as life ; that mother drew 
With berry stains upon a shred 
Of tattered tent ; but hardly you 
Would know the picture his at all, 
For Carlo 's black, and this is red.' 
Again she laughed, and shook her head. 
And showered eurls all out of place ; 
Then sudden sad, she raised her face 
To mine, and tenderly she said, 
' Have you, like us, a pretty home ? 
Have you, like me, a dog and toy ? 
Where do you live, and whither roam? 
And Where's your pa, poor stranger boy ? * 

" It seem'd so sweetly out of iDlace 
Again to meet my fellow-man, 
I gazed and gazed upon his face 
As something I had never seen. 
The melody of woman's voice 
Fell on my ear as falls the rain 
Upon the weary, waiting plain. 
I heard, and drank and drank again. 



TALL ALCALDE, 239 

As earth ^v itli crack'd lips drinks tlie rain. 

In green to revel and rejoice. 

I ate with thanks my frugal food, 

The first return'd for many a day. 

I had met kindness by the way ! 

I had at last encounter'd good ! 

"I sought my couch, but not to sleep ; 
New thoughts were coursing strong and deep 
My wild impulsive pas-sion-heart ; 
I could not rest, my heart was moved, 
My iron will forgot its part, 
And I wept like a child reproved. 
Never was Christian more devout, 
Never was lowlier heart than mine, 
Never has pious Moslem yet, 
When bearded Muezzin's holy shout 
Has echoed afar from minaret, 
Knelt lowlier down to saint or shrine. 
Than knelt that penitent soul of mine. 

" I lay and pictured me a life 
Afar fi-oni cold reproach or stain, 
Or annals dark of blood and strife, 



240 THE TALE OF THE 

From deadly perils or heart-pain ; 
And at the breaking of the morn 
I swung my arms from off the horn, 
And turned to other scenes and lands 
With lighten'd heart and whiten'd hands. 

" Where orange-blossoms never die, 
Where red fruits ripen all the year 
Beneath a sweet and balmy sky, 
Far from my language or my land, 
Reproach, regret, or shame or fear, 
I came in hope, I wander'd here — 
Yes, here : and this red, bony hand 
That holds this glass of ruddy cheer — " 

" 'Tis he ! " hissed the crafty advocate. 
He sprang to his feet, and hot with hate 
He reached his hands, and he called aloud, 
" 'Tis the reneofade of the red McCloud ! " 



■^iD 



Then slow the Alcalde rose and spoke. 
And the lightning flash'd from a cloud of hair, 
" Hand me, touch me, him who dare ! " 
And his heavy glass on the board of oak 



TALL ALCALDE, 241 

He smote with such savage and mighty stroke, 

It ground to dust in his bony hand, 

And heavy bottles did clink and tip 

As if an earthquake were in the land. 

He tower'd up, and in his ire 

Seem'd taller than any church's spire. 

He gazed a moment — and then, the while 

An icy cold and defiant smile 

Did curve his thin and his livid lip, 

He turn'd on his heel, he strode through the hall 

Grand as a god, so grandly tall. 

And white and cold as a chiselFd stone. 

He pass'd him out the adobe door 

Into the night, and he passed alone, 

And never was known nor heard of more. 



KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 



Itoom ! Room to turn round in, to breathe and hefree^ 
And to grow to he giant, to sail as at sea 
With the speed of the ivind on a steed with his mane 
To the wind, without pathway or route or a rein. 
Boom! Room to he free ivhere the white-hordered sect 
Blows a kiss to a brother as boundless as he; 
And to east and to west, to the north and the sun^ 
Blue skies and brown grasses are welded as one. 
And the buffalo come like a cloud on the plain. 
Pouring on like the tide of a storm-driven main^ 
And the lodge of the hunter to friend or to foe 
Offers rest ; and unquestioned you come or you go. 
My plains of America ! Seas of wild lands ! 
From a land in the seas in a raiment of foam, 
That has reached to a stranger the welcome of home, 
I turn to you, lean to yoUy lift you my hands. 

LoNPON. 1871. 



KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 

"• T3 LTN ? Now you bet you ; I rather guess so I 

But lie's blind as a badger. Whoa, Pache, boy, 
whoa. 
No, you wouldn't believe it to look at his eyes, 
But he is, badger blind, and it happened this wise, 

" We lay in the grasses and the sun-burnt clover 
That spread on the ground like a great brown cover 
Northward and southward, and west and away 
To the Brazos, to where our lodges lay, 
One broad and unbroken sea of brown, 
Awaiting the curtains of night to come down 
To cover us over and conceal our flight 
With my brown bride, won from an Indian town 
That lay in the rear the full ride of a night. 

" We lounged in the grasses — her eyes were in min<i, 
And her hands on my knee, and her hair was as wine 



246 KIT CARSON'S RIDE, 

In its wealth and its flood, pouring on and all over 
Her bosom wine-red, and pressed never by one ; 
And her touch was as warm as the tinge of thf. clover 
i3urnt brown as it reached to the kiss of the sun, 
And her words were as low as the lute-throated dove, 
And as laden with love as the heart when it beats 
In its hot eager answer to earliest love. 
Or the bee hurried home by its burthen of sweets. 

" We lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels. 
Old Revels and I, and my stolen brown biide ; 
And the heavens of blue and the harvest of brown 
And beautiful clover were welded as one, 
To the right and the left, in the light of the sun. 
* Forty full miles if a foot to ride. 
Forty full miles if a foot, and the devils 
Of red Camanches are hot on the track 
When once they strike it. Let the sun go down 
Soon, very soon,' muttered bearded old Kevels 
As he peered at the sun, lying low on his back, 
Holding fast to his lasso. Then he jerked at his steed 
And he sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftly around. 
And then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the 
ground ; 



KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 247 

Tlien again to his feet, and to me, to my bride, 
W^hile his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud. 
His form like a king, and his beard like a cloud, 
And his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a reed, — ^ 
' Pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed. 
And speed you if ever for life you would speed. 
And ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride \ 
For the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire. 
And feet of wild horses hard flying before 
I hear like a sea breaking high on the shore. 
While the buffalo come like a surge of tlie sea. 
Driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three 
As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire.' 

"We drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, 
Threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over 

again, 
And again drew the girth, cast aside the macheers, 
Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash fi'om its fold, 
Cast aside the catenas red-spangled with gold. 
And gold-mounted Celt's, the companions of years. 
Cast the silken scrapes to the wind in a breath. 
And so bared to the skin sprang all haste to 

horse — 



248 KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 

As bare as when bora, as when new from the hand 
Of God — without word, or one Avord of command. 
Turned head to the Brazos in a red race with death, 
Turned head to tlie Brazos witli a breath in t]ie hair 
Blowing hot from a king leaving death in his course ; 
Turned head to the Brazos with a sound in the air 
Like the rush of an army, and a flash in the eye 
Of a red wall of fire reaching up to the sky, 
Stretching fierce in jDursuit of a black rolling sea 
Rushing fast upon us, as the wind sweeping free 
And afar from the desert blew hollow and hoarse. 



" Not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, 
Not a kiss from my bride, not a look nor low call 
Of love-note or courage ; but on o'er the plain 
So steady and still, leaning low to the mane, 
With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein. 
Rode we on, rode we three, rode we nose and gra}' 

nose. 
Reaching long, breathing loud, as a creviced wind 

blows : 
Yet we broke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer, 
There was work to be done, there was death in the air, 
And the chance was as one to a thousand for all 



i 



KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 249 

" Gray nose to gray nose, and each steady mustang 
Stretched neck and stretched nerve till the arid earth 

rang, 
And the foam from the flank and the croup and the 

neck 
Flew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck. 
Twenty miles ! . . . thirty miles ! . . . a dim distant 

speck . . . 
Then a long reaching line, and the Brazos in sight, 
And I rose in my seat with a shout of delight. 
I stood in my stirrup and looked to my right — 
But Revels was gone ; I glanced by my shoulder 
And saw his horse stagger; I saw his head drooping 
Hard down on his breast, and his naked breast stoop- 
ing 
Low down to the mane, as so swifter and bolder 
Ran reaching out for us the red-footed fire. 
To right and to left the black buffiilo came, 
A terrible surf on a red sea of flame 
RushincT on in the rear, reaching^ hio-h, reachins; hio-]ier. 
And he rode neck to neck to a bufililo bull, 
The monarch of millions, with shaggy mane full 
Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire 
Of battle, with rage and with bello^dngs loud 



250 KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 

And unearthly, and up through its lowering cloud 
Came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden fire, 
While his keen crooked horns, through the storm of his 

mane, 
Like black lances lifted and lifted again ; 
And I looked but this once, for the fire licked through, 
And he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two. 

"I looked to my left then — and nose, neck, and 

shoulder 
Sank slowly, sank surely, till back to my thiglis ; 
And ujD through the black blowing veil of her hair 
Did beam full in mine her two marvellous eyes, 
With a longing and love, yet a look of despair 
And of pity for me, as she felt the smoke fold lier, 
And flames reaching far for her gloiious hair. 
Pier sinking steed faltered, his eager ears fell 
To and fro and unsteady, and all the neck's swell 
Did subside and recede, and the nerves fall as dead. 
Then she saw sturdy Pache still lorded his head. 
With a look of delight; for nor courage nof biibe, 
Kor naught but my bride, could have brought him 

to me. 
For he was her father's, and at South Santafee 



KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 251 

Had once won a whole herd, sweeping eveiy thing 

down 
In a race where the world came to run for the crown 
And so when I won the true heart of my bride — 
My neighbor's and deadliest enemy's child, 
And child of the kingly war-chief of his tribe — 
She broucrht me this steed to the border the nioht 
She met Revels and me in her perilous flight 
From the lodge of the chief to the North Brazos side ; 
And said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled, 
As if jesting, that I, and I only, should ride 
The fleet-footed Pache, so if kin should pursue 
I should surely escape without other ado 
Than to ride, without blood, to the North Brazos side, 
And await her — and wait till the next hollow moon 
Hung her horn in the palms, when surely and soon 
And swift she would join me, and all would be well 
Without bloodshed or word. And now as she fell 
From the front, and went down in the ocean of fire, 
Tlie last that I saw was a look of delio:ht 
Tlmt I should escape — a love — a desire — 
Yet never a word, not one look of appeal, 
Lest I should reach hand, should stay hand or stay heel 
One instant for her in my terrible flight. 



.4,52 KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 

"Then the rushing of fire around lue and under, 
And the howUng of beasts and a sound as of thunder — 
Beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over, 
As the passionate flame reached around them, and wove 

her 
Ked hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died — 
Till they died with a wild and a desolate moan, 
As a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone . • . 
And into the Brazos ... I rode all alone — 
All alone, save only a horse long-limbed. 
And blind and bare and burnt to the skin. 
Then just as the terrible sea came in 
And tumbled its thousands hot into the tide. 
Till the tide blocked ujd and the swift stream brimmed 
In eddies, we struck on the opposite side. 

" Sell Pache — blind Pache ? Now, mister, look here, 
You have slept in my tent and j^artook of my cheer 
Many days, many days, on this rugged frontier. 
For the ways they were rough and Camanches were 

near ; 
But you 'd better pack up, sir ! That tent is too small 
For us two after this ! Has an old mountaineer, 
Do you book-men believe, got no tum-tum at all ? 



Kir CARSON'S RIDE. 253 

Sell Paclie ! You buy him ! A bag full of gold ! 
You show him ! Tell of him the tale I have told ! 
Why, he bore me through fire, and is blind, and is old ! 
. . . Now pack up your papers, and get up and spin 
To them cities you tell of . . . Blast you and your tin I " 



BURNS AND BYRON. 



Eld Druid oaks of Ayr 1 
Precepts ! Poems ! Pages ! 
Lessons ! Leaves, and Volume* 
Arches I Pillars ! Columns 
hi corridors of ages ! 
Grand jmtriarchal sages 
Lifting palms in prayer ! 

The Druid beards are drifting 
And shifting to and fro, 
In gentle breezes lifting. 
That bat-like come and go, 
The ichile the moon is sifting 
A sheen of shining snow 
On all these blossoms lifting 
Tlieir blue eyes from below. 

No, 'tis not phantoms walking 
That you hear rustling there, 
But bearded Druids talking, 
And turning leaves in prayer. 
No, not a night-bird singing. 
Nor breeze the broad bough swinging^ 
But that bough holds a censer, 
And swings it to and fro. 
'Tis Sunday eve remember ^ 
Thai 's why they chant so low. 



4yb, 1870. 



BURNS AND BYRON. 



NOTE. 

The day before my departure for Europe last summer, a small party 
sailed out to the beautiful sea-front of Saucelito, lyiug in the great Bay 
of San Francisco, forever green in its crown of California laurel; and 
there the fairest hands of the youngest and fairest city of the NjiW World 
wove a wreath of bay for the tomb of Byron. I brought it over the 
Eocky Mountains, and the seas, and placed it above the dust of the 
soldier-poet, as desired. The wreath hangs now on the dark and dusty 
wall of the church at liucknall Tokard above the tattered coat-of-arms 
of the Bj'rons, and the small stained tablet placed there by the Poet's 
sister. 

Having come directly from Dumfries, I am bound to say that the con- 
trast between the tombs of the two immortal poets was at least remark- 
able. 

But in my pilgrimage to places sacred to the memory of Burns, I found 
none equal in interest to Ayr, the Doon, and their environs; perhaps it 
was because these places witnessed his birth, and his hard life's battles. 

T LINGER in the autumn noon, 
I listen to the partridge call, 
I watch the yellow leaflets fall 
And drift adown the dimpled Doon. 
I lean me o'er the ivy-grown 

Old brig, where Vandal tourists' tools 

17 



258 BURNS AND BYRON. 

Have ribb'd out names that would be known, 
Are known — known as a herd of fools. 

Down Ailsa Craig the sun declines, 

With lances levell'd here and there — 
The tinted thorns ! the trailinGr vines ! 

braes of Doon ! so fond, so fair ! 
feo passing fxir, so more than fond ! 
The Poet's place of birth beyond, 

Beyond the mellow bells of Ayr ! 

1 hear the milk-maid's twilicrht sonsr 
Come bravely through the storm-bent oaks; 
Beyond, the white surf's sullen strokes 

Beat in a chorus deep and strong ; 
I hear the sounding forge afar, 
And rush and rumble of the car, 

The steady tinkle of the bell 
Of lazy, laden, home-bound cows 
That stop to bellow and to browse ; 

I breathe the soft sea-wind as well, 
And now would fain arouse, arise ; 
I count the red lights in the skies ; 

I yield as to a fairy spell. 



BURNS AND BYRON, 259 

Heard ye the feet of flying horse? 
Heard ye the bogles in the air 
That clutch at Tarn O'Shanter's mare, 

That flies this mossy brig across ? 



O Burns ! where bid ? where bide you now ? 
Where are you in this night's full noon, 
Great master of the pen and plough ? 
Might you not on yon slanting beam 
Of moonlight, kneeling to the Doon, 
Descend once to this hallow'd stream ? 
Sure yon stars yield enough of light 
For heaven to spare your face one night. 



O Burns ! another name for song, 
Another name for passion — pride ; 
For love and poesy allied ; 
For strangely blended right and wrong. 



I picture you as one who kneel'd 
A stranger at his own hearthstone ; 
One knowing all, yet all unknown. 



26o BURNS AND BYRON. 

One seeing all, yet all conceard ; 

The fitful years you linger'd here, 

A lease of peril and of pain ; 

And I am thankftal yet again 

The gods did loA^e you, ploughman! peer! 

In all your OAvn and other lands, 
I hear your touching songs of cheer ; 
The peasant and the lordly peer 
Above your honor'd dust strike hands. 

A touch of tenderness is shown 
In this unselfish love of Ayr, 
And it is well, you earn'd it fair ; 
For all unhelmeted, alone, 
Y'ou proved a ploughman's honest claim 
To battle in the lists of fame ; 
You earn'd it as a warrior earns 
His laurels fighting for his land, 
And died — it was your right to go. 
O eloquence of silent woe ! 
The Master leaning reach' d a hand, 
And whisper'd, " It is finish'd. Burns ! " 



BURNS AND BYRON. 2C1 

O sad, sweet singer of a Spring ! 
Yours was a cliill uncbeerfiil May, 
And you knew no full days of June ; 
You ran too swiftly up the way, 
And wearied soon, so over-soon ! 
You sang in weariness and woe ; 
You falter'd, and God heard you sing, 
Then touch'd your hand and led you so, 
You found life's hill-top low, so low, 
You cross'd its summit long ere noon. 
Thus sooner than one would suppose 
Some weary feet will find repose. 



O cold and cruel Nottingham ! 
In disappointment and in tears. 
Sad, lost, and lonely, here I am 
To question, " Is this Nottingham, 
Of which I dream'd for years and years ? 
I seek in vain for name or sign 
Of him who made this mould a shrine, 
A Mecca to the fair and fond 
Beyond the seas, and still beyond. 



?62 BURNS AND BYRON. 

Where white clouds crush their drooping winga 
Against the snow-crown 'd battlements, 
And peaks that flash like silver tents ; 
Where Sacramento's fountain springs, 
And proud Columbia frets his shore 
Of sombre, boundless wood and wold, 
And lifts his yellow sands of gold 
In plaintive murmurs evermore ; 
Where snowy dimpled Tahoe smiles, 
And where white breakers from the sea. 
In solid phalanx knee to knee. 
Surround the calm Pacific Isles, 
Then run and reach unto the land 
And spread their thin palms on the sand, — 
Is he supreme — there understood : 
The free can understand the free. 
The brave and good the brave and good. 

Yea, he did sin ; who hath reveal'd 
That he was more than man, or less ? 
Yet sinn'd no more, but less conceal'd 
Than they who cloak'd their follies o'er, 
And then cast stones in his distress. 
He scorn'd to make the good seem more, 



BURNS AND BYRON, 263 

Or make the bitter sin seem les8. 
And so his very manliness 
The seeds of persecution bore. 

When all his fervid wayward love 
Brought back no olive-branch or dove, 
Or love or trust from any one, 
Proud, all unpitied and alone 
He lived to make himself unknown. 
Disdaining love and yielding none. 
Like some high-lifted sea-girt stone 
That could not stoop, but all the days, 
With proud brow turning to the breeze, 
Felt seas blown from the south, and seas 
Blown fi'om the north, and many ways. 
He stood — a solitary light 
In stormy seas and settled night — 
Then fell, but stirr'd the seas as far 
As winds and waves and waters are. 

The meek-eyed stars are cold and white 
And steady, fix'd for all the years ; 
The comet burns the wings of night, 
And dazzles elements and si3here8. 



264 BURNS AND BYRON. 

Then dies in beauty and a blaze 

Of light, blown far through other days. 

The poet's passion, sense of pride. 
His sentiment, the wooing throng 
Of sweet temptations that betide 
The wild and wayward child of song. 
The world knows not : I lift a hand 
To ye who know, who understand. 

In men whom men condemn as ill 
I find so much of goodness still, 
In men whom men pronounce divine 
I find so much of sin and blot, 
I hesitate to draw a line 
Between the two, where God has not. 

* 9fi :|k * m 

In sad but beautiful decay 
Gray Ilucknall kneels into the dust, 
And, cherishing her sacred trust. 
Does blend her clay ^nth lordly clay. 

The ancient Abbey's breast is broad. 
And stout her massive walls of stone ; 



BURNS AND BYRON, 265 

But let him lie, repose alone 
Ungather'd with the gi-eat of God, 
In dust, by his fierce fellow-man. 
Some one, some day, loud-voiced will speak 
And say the broad breast was not broad. 
The walls of stone were all too weak 
To hold the proud dust, in their plan ; 
The hollow of God's great right hand 
Receives it ; let it rest with God. 

No sign or cryj^tic stone or cross 
Unto the passing world has said, 
" He died, and we deplore his loss." 
No sound of sandall'd pilgrim's tread 
Disturbs the pilgrim's peaceful rest, 
Or fi-ets the proud impatient breast. 
The bat flits through the broken pane, 
The black swift swallow gathers moss, 
And builds in peace above his head, 
Then goes, then comes, and builds again. 
And it is well ; not otherwise 
Would he, the gi-and sad singer, will. 
The serene peace of paradise 
He sought — 'tis his — the storm is still. 



?.66 BURNS AND BYRON. 

Secure in Hs eternal fame, 
And blended pity and respect, 
He does not feel tlie cold neglect, 
And EnjTjland does not fear the shame. 

Nottingham, 1870 



MYRRH. 



Life knows no dead so beautiful 
As is the white cold coffin' d past ; 
This I may love nor he betrayed : 
The dead are faithful to the last. 
I am not spouseless — / have wed 
A memory — a life that ''s dead. 



IVIYRRH. 

TT'AREWELL ! for here the ways at last 

Dmde — diverge, like delta'd Nile, 
"Which after desert dangers pass'd 
Of many and many a thousand mile, 
As constant as a column stone, 
Seeks out the sea, divorced — alone. 

And you and I have buried Love, 
A red seal on the coffin's lid ; 
The clerk below, the Court above, 
Pronounced it dead : the corpse is hid. 
And I who never crossed your will 
Consent . . . that you may have it still. 

Farewell I a sad word easy said 
And easy sung, I think, by some . . . 
... I clutched my hands, I turned my head 
In my endeavor, and was dumb; 



270 MYRRH. 

And when I should have said, Farewell, 
I only murmur*d, " This is hell." 

What recks it now whose was the blamo ? 
But call it mine ; for better used 
Am I to wrong and cold disdain, 
Can better bear to be accused 
Of all that wears the shape of shame, 
Than have you bear one touch of blame. 

I know yours was the lighter heart. 
And yours the hope of grander meed ; 
Yet did I falter in my part ? 
But there is weakness in defeat, 
And I had felt its iron stride 
While your young feet were yet untried, 

I set my face for power and place, 
My soul is toned to sullenness. 
My heart holds not one sign nor trace 
Of love, or trust, or tenderness. 
But you — your years of happiness 
God knows I would not make them less. 



MYRRH. 271 

And yet it were a bootless strife ; 
Too soon and sudden up the way 
I hurried in the spring of life, 
And wearied ere the noon of day. 
I did not reach— -was it a crime 
That my life knew no summer-time ? 

And you will come some summer eve, 
When wheels the white moon on her track, 
And hear the plaintive night-bird grieve, 
And heed the crickets clad in black ; 
Alone — not far — a little spell, 
And say, " Well, yes, he loved me well ; " 

And sigh, " Well, yes, 1 mind me now 
None were so bravely true as he ; 
And yet his love was tame somehow, 
It was so truly true to me ; 
I wished his jDatient love had less 
Of worship and of tenderness : 

" I wish it still, for thus alone 
There comes a keen reproach or pain 
A feeling I dislike to own ; 



272 MYRRH. 

Half yearnings for his voice again, 
Half longings for his earnest gaze, 
To know him mine always — always." 

■^ T*^ tP •?? •?(? 

I make no murmur : steady, calm^ 
Sphinx-like I gaze on days ahead. 
No wooing word, no ^Dressing palm, 
No sealing love with lips seal-red, 
No waiting for some dusk or dawn. 
Or sacred hour ... all are gone. 

I go alone : no little hands 
To lead me fi'om forbidden ways, 
No little voice in other lands 
Shall cheer through all the weary days ; 
Yet these are yours, and that to me 
Is much indeed ... So let it be . . . 

... A last look from my mountain wall . , , 
I watch the red sun wed the sea 
Beside your home . . . the tides will fall 
And rise, but nevermore shall we 
Stand hand in hand and watch them flow, 
As we once stood . . . Christ ! this is so ! 



MYRRH 273 

But, when the stately sea comes in 
"With measured tread and mouth afoam, 
My darlings cry above the din, 
And ask, " Has father yet come home ? " 
Then look into the peaceful sky. 
And answer, gently, " By and by." 
» « * * « 

One deep spring in a desert sand, 
One mossed and mystic pyramid, 
A lonely palm on either hand, 
A fountain in a forest hid, 
Are all my life has realized 
Of all I cherish'd, all I prized : 

Of all I dream'd in early youth 
Of love by streams and love-lit ways. 
While my heart held its type of truth 
Through all the tropic golden days. 
And I the oak, and you the vine. 
Clung palm in palm through cloud or shine. 

Some time when clouds hang overhead, 
(What weary skies without one cloud ! ) 
You may muse on this love that 's dead, 

18 



274 MYRRH. 

Muse calm when not so young or proud, 
And say, " At last it comes to me, 
That none was ever true as he." 

My sin was that I loved so much — 
But I enlisted for the war, 
Till we the deep-sea shore should touch. 
Beyond Atlanta — near or far — 
And tiTier soldier never yet 
Bore shining sword or bayonet. 

I did not blame you — do not blame. 
The stormy elements of soul 
That I did scorn to tone or tame. 
Or bind down unto dull control 
In full fierce youth, they all are yours, 
With all their folly and their force. 

God keep you pure, oh, very pure, 
God give you grace to dare and do ; 
God give you courage to endure 
The all lie may demand of you. 
Keep time-frosts from your raven hair, 
And your young heart without a care. 



MYRRH, 275 

I make no murmur nor complain ; 
Above me are the stars and blue 
Alluring far to gi-and refrain ; 
Before, the beautiful and true, 
To love or hate, to win or lose ; 
Lo ! I will now arise, and choose. 

But should you sometime read a sign, 
A name among the princely few, 
In isles of song beyond the brine, 
Then you will think a time, and you 
Will turn and say, " He once was mine. 
Was all my own ; his smiles, his tears 
Were mine — were mine for years and years." 

Blue Mountains, Oregon, 1870. 



1 



EVEN 80. 



Sierras, and eternal tents 
Of snow that fiasli o'er battlements 
Of mountains ! My land of the sun^ 
Am I not true ? have I not done 
All things for thine, for thee alone, 
sun-land, sea-land, thou mine o\cn $ 
From other loves and ether lands. 
As true, perhaps, as strong of hands. 
Have I not turned to thee and thine, 
sun-land of the palm and pine, 
And sung thg scenes, surpassing skies. 
Till Europe lifted up> her face 
And marvelled at thy matchless grace. 
With eager and inquiring eyes ? 
Be my reward some little place 
To pitch my tent, some tree and vine 
Where I may sit above the sea. 
And drink the sun as drinking wine^ 
And dream, or sing some songs of thee. 
Or days to climb to Shasta^s dome 
Again, and be with gods at home. 
Salute my mountains, — clouded Hood, 
Saint Helens in its sea of wood, — 
Where siveeps the Oregon, and where 
White storms are in the feathered Jir» 

Athens, 1870. 



EVEN SO. 

OHE was not full tall, was not faii-er than others, 

But there was in her eyes, so proud and glorioayi 
A dream, a wonder, a dangerous witchery ; 
And when into yours they did look steadfastly 
With a longing and trust as if asking sympathy, 
As in talk, low-voiced, with your soul in confidence, 
While her rich full lips, red-jDOuting and luscious, 
Kept forth sweet-blended then- muth and sentiment, 
A battery shelter'd by a brown flood of tresses. 
That lay or lifted in the warm winds fretted 
About a brow of most marvellous beauty — 
You were less of a man than I should desire 
To know much of, to have been unmoved. 

Where pine-tops toss curly clouds to heaven 
And shake them far like to downs of thistle, 
In a rift of canon cleft so asunder 
That it seem'd as 'twere earth's lips half open'd 
Where men wrought gold from the rock-ribb'd moun- 
tain, 



28o EVEN SO. 

She patient abode witli her faithful mother. 

And brawny giants, men brown'd and bearded, 

Did bless the brown earth as she walk'd upon it. 

And call her more pure than their yellow gold treasures. 

By the trails sometimes that wound round the moun- 
tain 
Above brave men toiling long at the sluices, 
The cheery girl passing would kind and playful 
Call to them all kind words of encouragement, 
Then awake the echoes of the frowning mountains 
With gushing laugh at their honest answers, ^ 

And pass then on in a blaze of glory. 
They, blessing her heart, would then put from them 
Their coarser thoughts, and, bent to the boulders, 
Would recall fair faces far over the water, 
And be, for her, the happier and better 
For many and many a day thereafter. 

In the shadows a-west of the sunset mountains, 
Where old-time giants had dwelt and peopled, 
And built up cities and castled battlements, 
And rear'd up pillars that pierced the heavens, 
A poet dwelt, of the book of Nature — 



EVEN SO, 281 

An ardent lovei of the pure and beautifUl, 
Devoutest lover of the true and beautiful, 
Profoundest lover of the grand and beautiful — • 
^Vith a heart all impulse, intensest passion, 
Who believed in love as in God Eternal — 
A dream while the waken'd world went over, 
An Indian summer of the sullen seasons ; 
And he sang wild songs like the wind in cedars, 
Was tempest-toss'd as the pines, yet ever 
As fix'd in truth as they in the mountains. 

He had heard her name as one hears of a princessi 
Her glory had come unto him in stories ; 
From afar he had look'd as entranced upon her ; 
He gave her name to the wind in measures, 
And he heard her name in the deep- voiced cedars. 
And afar in the winds rolling on like the billows. 
Her name in the name of another for ever 
Gave all his numbers their grandest strophes ; 
He enshrined her image in his heart's high temple, 
And saint-like held her, too sacred for mortal. 

if! 4: * % 4b Nc 

He came to fall like a king of the forest 
Caught in the strong stormy arms of the wrestler; 



282 EVEN SO, 

Forgetting his songs, his crags and his mountahis, 

And nearly his God, in his wild deep passion ; 

And when he had won her and turn'd him homeward, 

With the holiest pledges love gives its lover. 

The mountain route was as strewn with roses. 

Can a high love then be a thing unholy, 

To make us better and bless'd supremely ? 

The day was fix'd for the feast and nuptials , 

He crazed Avith impatience at the tardy hours ; 

He flew in the face of old Time as a tyrant : 

He had fought the days that stood still between them, 

One by one, as you fight with a foeman. 

Had they been animate and sensate beings. 



At last then the hour came coldly forward. 
When Mars was traiUnsj his lance on the mountains 
He rein'd his steed and look'd down in the canon 
To where she dwelt, with a heart of fire ; 
He kiss'd his hand to the smoke slow curling, 
Tlien bow'd his head in devoutest blessing. 
His spotted courser did plunge and fret him 
Beneath his gay and silk-fringed cai'ona, 
And toss his neck in a black mane banner'd ; 






EVEN SO. 283 

Then all afoam, plunging iron-footed, 
Dash'd him adown with a wild impatience. 

A coldness met him, like the breath of a cavern, 
As he joyously hasten'd across the threshold. 
She came, and coldly she spoke and scornful, 
In answer to warm and impulsive passion. 
AlU things did array them in shapes most hatefiil, 
And life did seem but a jest intolerable. 
He dared to question her wliy this estrangement ; 
She spoke with a strange and stiff indifference, 
And bade him go on all alone life's journey. 

Stern then and tall he did stand up before her, 
And gaze dark-brow'd through the low narrow casement 
For a time, as if warring in thought with a passion ; 
Then, crushing hard down the hot welliag bitterness. 
He folded his form in a sullen silentness 
And turn'd for ever away from her presence : 
Bearing his sorrow like some great burden. 
Like a black night-mare in his hot heart muffled ; 
With his faith in the truth of woman all shatterM 
Like the shell of the cocoa dash'd to pieces 
On the stones below from its stately bower. 



284 EVEN SO. 

He heard a laughter as if in mockery, 

And, vaulting his saddle, he did take his journey 

Through the densest wood by the darkest windings, 

As the things best fitting his fate and humor, 

And hurl'd a curse back over his shoulder. 

Another had woo'd her, one gay, of earth earthy, 

Another had won her, a gay dashing soldier — 

With gold epaulets and a uniform polish'd. 

With sword and red sash, and a tongue swift and ready 

With loud talk of battles, of fine deeds of daring. 

That wins so most willing the ear of all women, 

He did win this jewel fi'om the lordly mountain, 

Of its wealth never counting, its worth never di-eaming, 

In truth not possessing one sense so accomplished 

He could know its value had it all been told liiin. 



'Mid Theban pillars, where sang the Pindar, 
Breathing the breath of the Grecian islands. 
Breathing in spices and olive and myrtle. 
Counting the caravans, curl'd and snowy. 
Slow journeying over his head to Mecca 
Or the high Christ-land of most holy memory, 
Counting the clouds through the boughs above him. 



EVEN SO 281, 

That brush'd white marbles that time had chisell'd 
And reared as tombs on the great dead city, 
Letter'd with solemn but unread moral — 
A poet rested in the red-hot summer. 
He took no note of the things about him, 
But dream'd and counted the clouds above him; 
His soul was troubled, and his sad heart's Mecca 
Was a miner's home far over the ocean, 
Banner'd by pines that did brush the heavens. 

When the sun went down on the bronzed Morea, . 
He read to himself from the lines of sorrow 
That came as a wail from the one he worshipp'd, 
Sent over the seas by an old companion : 
They spoke no word of him, or remembrance. 
And he was sad, for he felt forgotten. 
And said : " In the leaves of her fair heart's album 
She has cover'd my face with the face of another. 
Let the great sea lift like a wall between us, 
High-back'd, with his mane of white storms for ever — 
I shall leani to love, I shall wed my son-ow, 
I shall take as a spouse the days that are perish'd ; 
I shall dwell in a land where the march of genius 
Made tracks in marble in the days of giants ; 



286 EVEN SO. 

I shall sit in the ruins where sat the Marius, 
Gray with the ghosts of the great departed." 
And then he said in the solemn twilight . . . 



" Strangely wooing are the worlds above us, 
Strangely beautiful is the Faith of Islam, 
Strangely sweet are the songs of Solomon, 
Strangely tender are the teachings of Jesus, " 

Strangely cold is the sun on the mountains, 
Strangely mellow is the moon in old ruins. 
Strangely pleasant are the stolen waters. 
Strangely simple and unwooing is virtue. 
Strangely lighted is the North night-region. 
Strangely strong are the streams in the ocean, 
Strangely true are the tales of the Orient, 
Strangely winning is a dark-eyed widow. 
Strangely wayward are the ways of lovers, 
But stranger than all are the ways of women." 

His head on his hands and his hands on tlie iiiaj-)jlo, 
Alone in the moonlight he slept in the ruins ; 
And a form was before him white-mantled in moonligl t, 
And bitter he said to the one he had worshipi)ed : — 



EVEN SO. 287 

" Your hands in mine, your face, your eyes 
Look level into mine, and mine 
Are not abashed in anywise. 
As eyes were in an elder syne. 
Perhaps the pulse is colder now, 
And blood comes tamer to the brow 
Because of hot blood long ago . . . 
Withdraw your hand ? . . . Well, be it so, 
And turn your bent head slow sidewise, 
For recollections are as seas 
That come and go in tides, and these 
Are flood-tides filling to the eyes. 



" How strange that you above the vale 
And I below the mountain wall 
Should walk and meet ! . . . Why, you are pale ! . . . 
Strange meeting on the mountain fringe ! . . . 
. . . More strange we ever met at all ! . . . 
Tides come and go, we know their time ; 
The moon, we know her wane or prime ; 
But who knows how the fates may hinge ? 



" You stand before me here to-night. 



2^ EVEN SO. 

But not beside me, not beside — ■ 

Are beautiful, but not a bride. 

Some things I recollect aright. 

Though full a dozen years are done 

Since we two met one winter night — 

Since I was crush'd as by a fall ; 

For I have watched and pray'd through all 

The shining cu'cles of the sun. 



" I saw you where sad cedars wave ; 
I sought you in a dewy eve 
When shining crickets trill and grieve : 
You smiled, and I became a slave. 
A slave ! I worshi23ped you at night, 
"When all the blue field blossom'd red 
With dewy roses overhead 
In sweet and delicate delight. 
I was devout. I knelt at night, 
I knelt at noon, and tried to pray 
To Him who doeth all things welL 
I tried in vain to break the spell ; 
My prison'd soul refused to rise 
And image saints in Paradise, 



EVEN SO. 289 



While one was here before my eyes. 
You came between alway, alway. 



" Some things are sooner marred than made 
The moon was white, cne stars a-chill — 
A frost fell on a soul that night, 
And lips were whiter, colder still. 
A soul was black that erst was white. 
And you forget the place — the night I 
Forget that aught was done or said — 
Say this has pass'd a long decade — 
Say not. a single tear was shed — 
Say you forget these little things! 
Is not your recollection loath? 
"Well, little bees have bitter stings, 
And I remember for us both. 



"No, not a tear. Do men complain? 
The outer wound will show a stain, 
And we may shriek at idle pain ; 
But pierce the heart, and not a word. 
Or wail, or sign, is seen or heard. 



29C 



EVEN SO. 

" I did not blame — I do not blamft. 
My wild heart turns to you the same, 
Such as it is ; but oh, its meed 
Of faithfulness and trust and truth, 
And gushing confidence of youth, 
I caution you, is small indeed. 

" I folio w'd you, I worshipp'd you, 
And I would follow, worship still ; 
But if I felt the blight and chill 
Of frosts in my uncheerful spring. 
And show it now in riper years 
In answer to this love you bring — 
In answer to this second love, 
This wail of an unmated dove, 
In cautious answer to your tears — 
You, you know who t.'iught nie disdain. 
But deem you I would deal you pain ? 
I joy to know your heart is light, 
I journey glad to know it thus. 
And could I dare to make it less ? 
Yours — you are day, but I am night. 

" God knows I would descend to-day 



EVEN SO. 291 

Devoutly on my knees, and pray 

Your way might be one path of peace 

Through bending boughs and blossom'd trees, 

And perfect bliss through roses fair ; 

But know you, back — one long decade — 

How fervently, how fond I pray'd ? — 

What was the answer to that prayer ? 

" The tale is old, and often told 
And lived by more than you suppose — 
The fragrance of a summer rose 
Press'd down beneath the stubborn lid, 
When sun and song are hush'd and hid, 
And summer days are gi'ay and old. 

" We parted so. Amid the bays 
And peaceful palms and song and shade 
Your cheerful feet in pleasure stray'd 
Through all the swift and shining days. 

" You made my way another way, 

Tou bade it should not be with thine — 

A fierce and cheerless route was mine : 

But we have met, at last, to-day. 
19 



292 EVE A' SG. 

" You talk of tears — of bitter tears 
And tell of tyranny and wrong, 
And I re-live some stinging jeers, 
Back, far back, in the leaden years. 
A lane without a turn is long, 
I muse, and whistle a reply — 
Then bite my lips to crush a sigh. 

** You sympathize that I am sad, 
I sigh for you that you complain, 
I shake my yellow hau* in vain, 
T laugh with lips, but am not glad. 



..." His was a hot love of the hours, 
And love and lover both are flown. 
And you walk, like a ghost, alone. 
He sipp'd your sunny lii^s, and he 
Took all their honey : now the bee 
Bends down the heads of other flowers, 
And other lif)s lift up to kiss . . . 
... I am not cruel, yet I find 
A savage solace for the mind 
And sweet delight in saying this . • . 



EVEN SO. 293 

Now you are silent, white, and you 
Lift up your hands as making sign, 
And your rich Hps lie thin and blue 
And ashen . . . and you writhe, and you 
Breathe quick and tremble ... is it true 
The soul takes wounds, gives blood hke wine ? 



. . " No, not so lonely now — I love 
A forest maiden : she is mine ; 
And on SieiTas' slopes of pine, 
The vines below, the snows above, 
A solitary lodge is set 
Within a fringe of watered firs ; 
And there my wigwam fires burn, 
Fed by a round brown patient hand, 
That small brown faithful hand of hers 
That never rests till my return. 
The yellow smoke is rising yet ; 
Tiptoe, and see it where you stand 
Lift like a column from the land. 

*' There are no sea-gems in her hair, 
No jewels fret her dimpled hands. 
And hall' her bronzen limbs are bare 



294 EVEN SO. 

Bat round brown arms have golden bands, 

Broad, rich, and by her cunning hands 

Cut from the yellow virgin ore, 

And she does not desire more. 

I wear the beaded wampum belt 

That she has wove — the sable pelt 

That she has fringed red threads around ; 

And in the morn, when men are not, 

I wake the valley with the shot 

That brings the brown deer to the ground. 

And she beside the lodge at noon 

Sings with the wind, while baby swings 

In sea-shell cradle by the bough — 

Sings low, so like the clover sings 

With swarm of bees ; I hear her now, 

I see her sad face through the moon . . . 

Such songs! — would earth had more of such! 

She has not much to say, and she 

Lifts never voice to question me 

In ausjht I do . . . and that is much. 

I love her for her patient trust. 

And my love's fortyfold return — 

A value I have not to learn 

As you ... at least, as many must . . , 



EVEN SO. 295 

..." She is not over tall or fair ; 
Her breasts are curtained by her hair, 
And sometimes, through the silken fringe, 
I see her bosom's wealth, like wine, 
Burst through in luscious ruddy tinge — 
And all its wealth and worth are mine. 
I know not that one drop of blood 
Of prince or chief is in her veins : 
I simply say that she is good, 
And loves me with pure womanhood. 
. . . When that is said, why, what remains ? 

..." You seem so most uncommon tall 
Against the lonely ghostly moon, 
That huriies homeward oversoon, 
And hides behind you and the pines ; 
And your two hands hang cold and small. 
And your two thin arms lie like vines, 
Or winter moonbeams on a wall. 
. . . What if you be a weary ghost. 
And I but dream, and dream I wake ? 
Then wake me not, and my mistake 
Is not so bad : let's make the most 
Of all we get, asleep, awake — 



296 EVEN SO. 

Take all we get with greedy cheek, 
And waste not one sweet thing at all; 
God knows that, at the best, life brings 
The soul's share so exceeding small 
That many mighty souls grow weak 
And weary for some better things, 
And hungered even unto death. 
Laugh loud, be glad with ready breath. 
For after all are joy and giief 
Not merely matters of belief? 
And what is certain, after all, 
But death, delightful, patient death? 
O cool and perfect peaceful sleep. 
Without one tossing hand, or deep 
Sad sigh and catching in of breath ! 

" Be satisfied. The price of breath 
Is paid in toil. But knowledge is 
Bought only with a weary care. 
And wisdom means a world of pain . • 
Well, we have suffered, will again, 
And we can work and wait and bear, 
Strong in the certainty of bliss. 
Death is delightful : after death 



EVEN SO. 297 

Breaks in the dawn of perfect day. 
Let question he who will : the may 
Throws fragrance far beyond the wall. 
I pass no word with such : 'tis fit 
To pity such : therefore I say 
Be wise and make the best of it ; 
Content and strong against the fall. 

" Death is delightful. Death is dawn. 
The waking from a weary night 
Of fevers unto truth and light. 
Fame is not much, love is not much, 
Yet what else is there worth the touch 
Of lifted hands with dagger drawn ? 
So surely life is little worth : 
Therefore I say, Look up ; therefore 
I say. One httle star has more 
Bright gold than all the earth of earth. 

" Yet we must labor, plant to reap — 
Life knows no folding up of hands — 
Must plough the soul, as ploughing lands, 
In fuiTows fashioned strong and deep, 
liife has its lesson. Let us learn 



298 EVEN SO. 

The hard long lesson from the birth, 
And be content ; stand breast to breast* 
And bear and battle till the rest. 
Yet I look to yon stars, and say, 
Thank Christ, ye are so far away 
That when I win you I can turn 
And look, and see no sign of earth. 



..." You stand up so uncommon tall, 
Your back against the falling moon, 
And all yom* limbs are still, and all 
Your raiment is as snow and stone. 
What if I called you mine, my OAvn ? 
What if I kissed you, mouth to mouth. 
In all the passion of my South, 
And should possess you oversoon ? " . . . 

He reached ... he touched the marble stone : 
He staited up, he stood alone. 
And up against the Grecian sky 
White-marbled desolation stood. 
The gaunt wolf hurried to the wood, 
Witliin the wall, the owlet's cry 



EVEN SO. 299 



Was only heard ; the silent blonde, 
The brown wife with her babe at noon 
That blessed him in the land beyond, 
The mountain scene, the cedar trees, 
The stormy and uncertain seas, 
And all that he did see or seem 
To see, had faded as a dream. 
And fallen with the marble moon. 



SONGS OF THE SUN-LANDS. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



Pabt I. 



Primeval forests ! virgin sod ! 

That Saxon hath not ravished yet! 

Lo ! peak on peak in column set^ 
In stepping stairs that reach to God ! 

Here we are free as sea or windy 
For here are set the snowy tents 
In everlasting battlements^ 

Against the march of Saxon mind. 



i 



SONGS OF THE SUN-LANDS. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

PRELUDE 

"IT 7ELL ! who shall lay hand on my harp but me, 

Or shall chide my song fi*om the sounding trees ? 
The passionate sun and the resolute sea, 
These were my masters, and only these. 

These were my masters, and only these. 
And these from the first I obey'd, and they 
Shall command me now, and I shall obey 

As a dutiful child that is proud to please. 

There never were measures as true as the sun, 
The sea hath a song that is passingly sweet. 
And yet they repeat, and repeat, and repeat, 

The same old runes though the new years run. 
1» 



lO ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

By unnamed rivers of the Oregon north, 
That roll dark-heaved into turbulent hills, 
I have made my home. . . . The wild heart thrills 

With memories fierce, and a world storms forth. 

On eminent peaks that are dark with pine, 
And mantled in shadows and voiced in storms, 
I have made my camps : majestic gray forms 

Of the thunder-clouds, they were companions of mine ; 

And face set to face, like to lords austere, 

Have we talk'd, red-tongued, of the mysteries 
Of the circling sun, of the oracled seas. 

While ye who judged me had mantled in fear. 

Some fragment of thought in the unfinish'd words; 

A cry of fierce freedom, and I claim no more. 

What more would you have from the tender of herds 
And of horse on an ultimate Oreofon shore ? 

\ 

From men unto God go forth, as alone. 

Where the dark pines talk in their tones of the sea 
To the unseen God in a harmony 

Of the under seas, and know the unknown. 



|i 



rSLES OF THE AMAZONS, II 

IVlid white Sierras, that slope to the sea, 
Lie turbulent lands. Go dwell in the skies, 

And the thundering tongues of Yosemite 

Shall persuade you to silence, and you shall be wise. 

Yea, men may deride, and the thing it is well ; 
Turn well and aside from the one wild note 
To the song of the bird with the tame, sweet thi'oat 

But the sea sings on in his cave and shell. 

Let the white moons ride, let the red stars fall, 
O great, sweet sea ! O fearful and sweet ! 
Thy songs they repeat, and repeat, and repeat : 

And these, I say, shall survive us all. 



I but sing for the love of song and the few 
Who loved me first and shall love me last; 
And the storm shall pass as the storms have pass'd, 

For never were clouds but the sun came through. 



Part I. 



TT^AR up in the hush of the Amazon River, 

And mantled and hung in the tropical trees, 
There are isles as grand as the isles of the seas ; 

And the waves strike strophes, and keen reeds quiver. 

As the sudden canoe shoots apast them and over 
The strong, still tide to the opposite shore. 
Where the blue-eyed men by the sycamore 

Sit mending their nets 'neath the vine-twined cover; 

n. 

Sit weaving their threads of bark and of grasses. 
They mnd and they spin, on the clumsy wheel. 
Into hammocks red-hued with the cochineal, 

To trade with the single black ship that passes. 

With foreign old freightage of curious old store. 
And as still and as slow as if half asleep, — 
A cunning old trader that loves to creep 

Above and adown in the shade of the shore. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 1 3 



ni. 



And the blue-eyed men that are mild as the dawns — 
Oh, delicate dawns of the grand Andes ! — 
Lift up soft eyes that are deep like seas, 

And mild yet wild as the red-white fawns' ; 



IV. 



And they gaze into yours, then weave, then listen, 
Then look in wonder, then again weave on. 
Then again look wonder that you are not gone, 

While the keen reeds quiver and the bent waves glisten ; 

v. 

But they say no words while they weave and wonder, 
Though they sometimes sing, voiced low like the dove, 
And as deep and as rich as their tropical love, 

A-weaving their net threads through and under. 

VI. 

Yea, a pure, true people you may trust are these. 
That weave their threads where the quick leaves 

quiver ; 
And this is their tale of the Isles of the river. 

And the why that their eyes are so blue like seas, 



14 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

And the why that the men draw water and bear 
Tlie wine or the water in the wild boar skin, 
And do live in the woods, and do weave and spin, 

And so bear with the women full burthen and share. 

vn. 

A curious old tale of a curious old time, 

That is told you betimes by a quaint old crone, 
Who sits on the lim of an island alone, 

As ever was told you in story or rhyme. 

vin. 
Her brown, bare feet dijD down to the river. 

And dabble and plash to her comical tone ; 

And she holds in her hands a strange green stone, 
As she talks to the boat where the bent reeds quiver. 

IX. 

And the quaint old crone has a singular way 
Of holding her head to the side and askew, 
And smoothing the stone in her palms all day, 

As saying, " I 've nothing at all for you," 

Until you have anointed her palm, and you 
Have touch'd on the delicate spring of a door 
That silver has open'd perhaps before ; 

For woman is woman the wide world through. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. IS 

X. 

The old near truth on the far new shore ! 
I bought and I paid for it ; so did you : 
The tale may be false or the tale may be true ; 

I give as I got it, and who can more ? 

And if I have purchased a beautiful lie, 
And liked it well, and believed it true, 
I have done it before ; and so have you, 

And have been contented, and so have I. 

XI. 

If I have made journeys to difficult shores. 
And woven delusions in innocent verse. 
If none be the wiser, why, who is the worse ? 

The field it was mine, and the fruit it is yours. 

XII. 

A sudden told tale. You may read as you run. 
A part of it hers, some part is my own. 
Crude, and too carelessly woven and sown, 

As I sail'd on the Mexican seas in the sun. 

xin. 

She tells in her tale of a brave young knight, 
A singer and knight of most knightly birth, 
Aback in the darlingest days of the earth ; 

Oh, dear olrl rlavs that are lost to «*iirhi ' 



l6 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XIV. 

Oh, dear old days, when th(^, hot rhymes rang 

Like steel upon steel when toss'd to the sky ; 

When lovers could love, when maidens could die 
But never deceive, and the song-men sang 

In passion as pure as the blush of the grape, 
To clashing of swords, for a maiden's sweet sigh, 

Nor measured for gold as men measuring tape, 
Who turn from the counter to turning of lays 
On degenerate deeds in degenerate days. 

XV. 

O carpet-knight singer ! shrewd merchant of song ! 
Get gold and be glad, buy, sell, and be strong! 
Sweet Cyprian, I kiss you, I pay you, w^e part : 
Go ! you have my gold, but v»^ho has my heart ? 
Go, splendid made singer, so finish'd, so fair. 
Go sing you of heaven, with never a prayer, 
Of hearts that are aching, with never a heart. 
Of Nature, all girded and bridled by art ; 

Go sing you of battles, with never a scar. 
Of sunlight, with never a soul for tlie noon; 
Move cold and alone hke a broken, bright moon, 

And shimmer and shine like a flir, cold star. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 1/ 

XVI. 

'Twas nations ago, when the Amazons were, 

That a fliir young knight — says the quaint old crone, 
Wit 1 her liead sidewise, as she smoothes at the stone — 

Came over the seas, with his golden hair, 

And a great black steed, and glittering spurs, 

And a sword that had come from crusaders down, 
And a womanly face in a manly frown, 

And a heart as tender and as true as Kers. 

xvn. 

And fairest, and foremost in love as in war 
Was the brave young knight of the brave old days. 
Of all of the knights, with their knightly ways, 

That had journey'd away to the world afar 

In the name of Spain ; of the splendid few 
Wlio bore her banner in the new-born world, 
F]'om the sea-rim, up where the clouds are curl'd, 

And the condors beat their wings in the blue. 

xvin. 

He was born, says the crone, where the brave are fair, 
And blown from the banks of the Guadalquiver, 



1 8 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

And yet blue-eyed, with the Celt's soft hair, 
With never a drop of the dark, deep river 
Of Moorish blood that had swept through Spain, 
And plash'd the world with its tawny stain. 

XIX. 

He sat on his steed, and his sword was bloody 

With heathen blood; the battle was done; 
And crown'd in fire, wreathed and ruddy 

With antique ^mples built up to the sun, 
Below on the plain lay the beautiful city 
At the conquerors' feet ; the red street strown 
With dead, with gold, and with gods overthrown. 
His heart rebell'd and arose with j^ity, 
He raised his head with a proud disdain, 
And rein'd his steed on the reeking plain, 
As the heathen pour'd, in a helj^less flood. 
With never a wail and with never a blow, 
At last, to even provoke a foe, 
Through gateways, wet with the pagan's blood. 

XX. 

" Ho, forward ! smite ! " but the minstrel linger'd, 
He reach'd his hand and he touch'd the rein. 

He humm'd an air, and he toy'd and finger'd 
The archirssr noclc ir»r? the g:>os?7 T.fit^e 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 1 9 

XXI. 

He rested the heel, he rested the hand, 
Though the thing was death to the man to dare 
To doubt, to question, to falter there, 

Nor heeded at all to the hot command. 

XXII. 

He wiped his steel on his black steed's mane, 
He sheathed it deep, then look'd at the sun, 
Then counted his comrades, one by one, 

With booty returned from the plunder'd plain. 

xxm. 

lie lifted his face to the flashing snow, 

He lifted his shield of steel as he sang. 

And he flung it away till it clang'd and rang 
On the granite rocks in the plain below. 
Then cross'd his bosom. Made overbold. 

He lifted his voice and sang, quite low 

At first, then loud in the long-ago. 
When a love endured though the days grew old. 

XXIV. 

They heard his song, the chief on the plain 
Stood up in his stu-rups, and, sword in hand, 



20 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

He cursed and he call'd with a loud command 
To the blue-eyed boy to return again ; 
To lift his shield again to the sky, 
And come and surrender his sword or die. 

XXV. 

He wove his hand in the stormy mane, 
He lean'd him forward, he lifted the rein. 
He struck the flank, he wheel'd and sprang. 

And gayly rode in the face of the sun, 
And bared his sword and he bravely sang, 

" Ho ! come and take it ! " but there came not one. 

XXVI. 

And so he sang, with his face to the south : 

" I shall go ; I shall search for the Amazon shore, 
Where the curses of man they are heard no moro, 

And kisses alone shall embrace the mouth. 

XXVII. 

"I shall journey in search of the Incan Isles, 

Go far and away to traditional land. 
Where Love is a queen in a crown of smiles. 

And battle has never imbrued a hand ; 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 21 

xxvin. 

" Where man has never desiDoiled or trod ; 

Where woman's hand with a woman's heart 

Has fashion'd an Eden from man apart, 
And she walks in her garden alone with God. 

XXIX. 

" I shall seek that Eden, and all my years 
Shall sit and repose, shall sing in the sun ; 
And the tides may rest or the tides may run, 

And men may water the world with tears ; 

XXX. 

"And the years may come and the years may go^ 
And men make war, may slay and be slain, 

But I not care, for I never shall know 
Of man, or of aught that is man's again. 

XXXI. 

"The waves may battle, the winds may blow, 
The mellow rich moons may ripen and fall, 

The seasons of gold they may gather or go, 
The mono may chatter, the paroquet call. 



22 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXXII. 

" And who shall take heed, take note, or shall know 

If the Fates befriend, or if ill befall, 

Of worlds without, or of worlds at all, 
Of heaven above, or of hell below." 

xxxin. 

'Twas the song of a dream and the dream ot a smger, 
Drawn fine as the delicate fibres of gold. 

And broken in two by the touch of a finger, 
And blown as the winds blow, rent and roU'd 
In dust, and spent as a tale that is told. 

XXXIV. 

Alas ! for his dreams and the songs he sung : 
The beasts beset him; the serpents they hung, 

Red-tongued and terrible, over his head. 

He clove and he thrust with his keen, quick steel, 
He coax'd with his hand and urged with his heel, 

Till his steel was broken, and his steed lay dead. 

XXXV. 

He toil'd to the river, he lean'd intent 

To the wave, and away through the fringe of bougns, 
From beasts that pursued ; and breathed his vows, 

For soul and body were well-nigh spent. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 23 



XXXVI. 



His arm arch'd over, as do arms on seas. 
For sign, or for sound ; the thin lips press'd, 
And the two hands cross'd on the helpless breast, 

For there came no sound through the sweep of the tree? 

XXXVII. 

*Twas the king of rivers, and the Isles were near ; 
Yet it moved so strange, so still, so strong, 
And gave no sound, not even the song 

Of a sea-bird screaming defiance or fear. 

xxxvin. 

It was dark and dreadful ! Wide like an ocean, 

Much like a river but more hke a sea, 
Save that there was naught of the turbulent motion 

Of tides, or of winds blown back, or a-lee. 

XXXIX. 

Yea, strangely strong was the wave and slow, 
And half-way hid in the dark deep tide, 

Great turtles they paddled them to and fro. 
And away to the Isles and the opposite side. 



24 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

XL. 

The nude black boar through abundant grass 
Stole down to the water and buried his nose, 
And crush'd white teeth till the bubbles rose 

As white and as bright as the globes of glass. 

XLI. 

Yea, steadily moved it, mile upon mile, 
Above and below and as still as the au-; 
The bank made slippery here and there 

By the slushing slide of the crocodile. 

XLn. 

The great trees bent to the tide like slaves ; 

They dipp'd their boughs as the stream swept on. 
And then drew back, then dipp'd and were gone, 

Away to the seas with the resolute waves. 

XLUI. 

The land was the tide's ; the shore was undone ; 
It look'd as the lawless, unsatisfied seas 
Had thrust up an arm through the tangle of trees, 

And clutch'd at the citrons that grew in the sun ; 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 25 

And clutch'd at the diamonds that liid in the sand, 

And laid heavy hand on the gold, and a hand 

On the redolent fruits, on the rubies-like wine, 

And the stones like the stars when the stars are divine ; 

XLIV. 

Had thrust through the rocks of the ribb'd Andes ; 
Had wrested and fled ; and had left a waste 
And a wide way strewn in j^recipitate haste, 

As he bore them away to the buccaneer seas. 

XLV. 

O, heavens, the eloquent song of the silence ! 

Asleep lay the sun in the vines, on the sod, 
And asleep in the sun lay the green-girdled islands, 

As rock'd to their rest in the cradle of God. 

XLYI. 

God's poet is silence ! His song is unspoken, 
And yet so profound, so loud, and so far. 

It fills you, it thrills you with measures unbroken, 
And as soft, and as fair, and as far as a star. 
2 



26 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XL VII. 

The shallow seas moan. From the first they have 
mutter'd 
And mourn'd, as a child, and have wept at their 
wilL . . . 
The poems of God are too grand to be utter'd : 
The dreadful deep seas they are loudest when stilL 



xLvni. 



** I shall die," he said, " by the solemn deep river, 
By the king of the rivers, and the mother of seas, 

So far, and so far from my Guadalquiver, 
Near, and so near to the dreaded Andes. 



1 



XLIX. 

" Let me sing one song by the grand old river, 

And die ; " and he reach'd and he brake him a reed 
From the rim of the river, where they lift and quiver, 

And he trimm'd it and notch' d it with all his speed 
With his treacherous blade, in the sweep of the trees, 

As he stood with his head bent low on his breast, 
And the vines in his hair and the wave to his knees, 

And bow'd like to one who would die to rest. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 2/ 

" I shall fold my hands, for this is the river 
Of death," he said, " and the sea-green isle 

Is an Eden set by the gracious Giver 

"Wherein to rest." He listened the while. 

Then lifted his head, then lifted a hand 

Arch'd over his brow, and he lean'd and listened, — 

'Twas only a bird on a border of sand, — 

The dark stream eddy'd and gleam'd and glistened 

Stately and still as the march of a moon, 

And the martial notes from the isle were gone, — 
' Gone as a dream dies out with the dawn, 

And gone as far as the night from the noon. 

LI. 

'Twas only a bird on a border of sand, 
Slow piping, and diving it here and there, 
Slim, gray, and shadowy, light as the air, 

That dipp'd below from a point of the land. 

LII. 

" Unto God a prayer and to love a tear, 
And I die," he said, " in a desert here. 
So deep that never a note is heard 
But the listless song of that soulless bird," 



a 



28 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

LIII. 

He moved to a burthen of blossoms rare, 

And stood in the red-white sweets to his knees, — 

The pink and tlie purple that filled the air 
With fragrance sweet as a breeze of bees. 

nv. 

He crush'd the blooms to the sod untrod, 
The mateless man, in an Eden, fair 
As the one of old, in his fierce despair, 

So hidden from man by the hand of God ; 

LV. 

Ay, hidden above by the vines and mosses, 
And zoned about by tlie tide like seas. 
And curtain'd above by the linden-trees. 

Well wove and inwove in intricate crosses ; 

LVI. 

The trees that lean'd in their love unto trees, 

That lock'd in their loves, and were so made strong. 

Stronger than armies ; ay, stronger than seas 
That rush from their caves in a storm of song. 

LVII. 

" A miser of old his last, great treasure 

Flung far in the sea, and he fell and he died ; 
And so shall I give, O terrible tide. 

To you my song and my last sad measure.** 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 29 

LVin. 

fie blew on his reed by the still, strong river, 
Blew low at first, like a dream, then long, 

Tlien loud, then loud as the keys that quiver, 
And fi-et, and toss with their freight of soni^ 

LIX. 

He sang and he sang with a resolute will, 

Till the mono rested above on his haunchew. 
And held his head to the side and was still, - - 

Till a bird blew out of the night of branch*^. 
Alit on a reed, and with delicate skill 

Sang sadder than love, so sweeter than sad, 
Till the boughs did burthen and the reeds did ^W 

With beautiful bu*ds, and the boy was glad, 

LX. 

Our loves they are told by the myriad-eyed stara, 
Yet love it is well in a reasonable way. 
And fiinie it is fair in its way for a day^ 

Borne dusty from books and bloody from wars , 

And death, I say, is an absolute need, 

And a calm delight, and an ultimate good ; 



30 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

But a song that is blown from a watery reed 
By a soundless deep from a boundless wood, 

With never a hearer to heed or to prize 
But God and the birds and the hairy wild beasts, 
Is sweeter than love, than f\me, or than feasts, 

Or any thing else that is under the skies. 

LXI. 

The quick leaves quiver'd, and the sunlight danced ; 

As the boy sang sweet, and the birds said, " Sweet; 

And the tiger crept close, and lay low at his feet, 
And he sheath'd his claws in the sun, entranced. 

LXII. 

The serpent that hung from the sycamore bough, 
And sway'd his head in a crescent above, 

Had folded his neck to the white limb now. 
And fondled it close like a great black love. 

LXIII. 

But the hands grew weary, the heart wax'd faint, 

The loud notes fell to a far-off plaint. 

The sweet birjis echo'd no more, " Oh, sweet," 

The tiger arose and unsheath'd his claws, 

The serpent extended his iron jaws. 
And the frail reed shiver'd and fell at his feet. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, Zl 

LXIV. 

A sound on the tide, and he turned and cried, 
" Oh, give God thanks, for they come, they come !" 
He look'd ont afar on the opaline tide, 

Then clasp'd his hands, and his lips were dumb. 

LXV. 

A sweeping swift crescent of sudden canoes ! 
As light as the sun of the south and as soon, 
And true and as still as a sweet half-moon 

That leans from the heavens, and loves and wooes I 

LXYI. 

The Amazons came in their martial pride. 
As full on the stream as a studding of stars, 
All girded in annor as girded in wars. 

In foamy white furrows dividing the tide. 

Lxvn. 

W ith a face as brown as the boatmen's are, 
Or the brave, brown hand of a harvester ; 
And girdled in gold, and crown'd in hair 
In a storm of night, all studded with rare 



32 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

Rich stones, that fretted the full of a noon, 
The Queen on a prow stood splendid and tall, 
As petulant waters would lift, and fall, 

And beat, and bubble a watery rune : 

Lxvin. 

Stood forth for the song, half lean'd in surprise, 
Stood fair to behold, and yet grand to behold, 
And austere in her face, and saturnine-soul'd, 

And sad and subdued, in her eloquent eyes. 

LXIX. 

And sad were they all ; yet tall and serene 
Of presence, but silent, and brow'd severe 

As for some things lost, or for some fair, green, 
And beautiful place, to the memory dear. 

LXX. 

" O Mother of God ! Thrice merciful saint ! 

I am saved ! " he said, and he wept outright ; 

Ay, wept as even a woman might, 
For the soul was full and the heart was faint. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 33 

LXXI. 

"Stay! stay!" cried the Queen, and she leapt to the 
land, 

And she lifted her hand, and she lower'd their spears, 
A woman ! a woman ! ho ! help ! give a hand ! 

" A woman ! a woman ! we know by the tears." 

Lxxn. 

Then gently as touch of the truest of woman, 
They lifted him up from the earth as he fell, 
And into the boat, with a half-bidden swell 

Of the heart that was holy and tenderly human. 

Lxxrn. 

They spoke low-voiced as a vesper prayer ; 
They pillowed his head as only the hand 
Of woman can pillow, and push'd from the land, 

And the Queen she sat threading the gold of his hair. 

LXXIV. 

Then away with the wave, and away to the Isles, 
In a song of the oars of the crescented fleet 

That timed together in musical wiles 
In bubbles of melodies swift and sweet. 
2* c 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



Pabt II. 



Forsake the city. Follow me 
To where the white caps of a sea 
Of mountains break and break again^ 

As blown in foam against a star — 
As breaks the fury of a main — 

And there remains^ asfx^d, as far. 

Forsake the people. What are they 

That laugh, that live, that love, by rulef 
Forsake the Saxon. What are these 
That shun the shadows of the trees : 
The Druid-forests ? . . , Go thy way, 
We are not one. 1 will not please 
You ; — fare you well, wiser fool ! 

But you who love me ; — Ye who love 
The shaggy forests, fierce delights 
Of sounding waterfalls, of heights 
That hang like broken moons above. 
With brows of pine that brush the sun^ 
Believe and follow. We are one; 
The wild man shall to us be tame ; 

The woods shall yield their mysteries 
The stars shall answer to a name^ 
And be as birds above the trees. 



n 



m 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



PRELUDE. 

TN the days when my mother, the Earth, was young, 

And you all were not, nor the likeness of you, 
She walk'd in her maidenly prime among 
The moonlit stars in the boundless blue. 

Then the great sun lifted his shining shield, 
And he flash'd his sword as the soldiers do, 

And he moved like a king full over the field. 
And he look'd, and he loved her brave and true. 

And looking afar from the ultimate rim. 

As he lay at rest in a reach of light. 

He beheld her walking alone at night, 
Where the buttercup stars in their beauty swim. 

So he rose up flush'd in his love, and he ran. 
And he reach'd his arms, and around her waist 

He wound them strong like a love-struck man. 
And he kiss'd and embraced her, brave and chaste. 



38 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

So he nursed his love like a babe at its birth, ^A 

And he warm'd in his love as the long years ran, 

Then embraced her again, and sweet mother Earth 
Was a mother indeed, and her child was man. 

The sun is the sire, the mother is earth ! 

What more do you know ? what more do I need? 
The one he begot, and the one gave birth. 

And I love them both, and let laugh at your creed. 



And who shall pronounce that the child of the sun. 
With his rich sun-worship, was utterly wrong 
In the far, new years when the stars kept song ? 1 1 

But judge, and be judged; — condemn, and have done. 

And who shall proclaim they were all unwise 

In their great, warm faith ? Time answers us not : 

The quick fool questions ; but who replies ? 
The wise man hesitates, hush'd in thought. 



Pakt II. 



I. 

'T^IIEY swept to the Isles through the furrows of foam, 

They alit on the land as love hastening home, 
And below the banana, with leaf like a tent, 

They tenderly laid him, they bade him take rest ; 

They brought him strange fishes and fruits of the best, 
And he ate and took rest with a patient content. 

n. 

They watch'd with him well, and he rose up strong ; 
He stood in their midst, and they said, " How fair ! " 
And they said, " How tall ! " And they toy'd with 
his hair, 

And they touch'd his limbs, and they said, " How long ! 

And how strong they are ; and how brave she is, 
That she made her way through the wiles of man. 
That she braved his wrath, that she broke the ban 

Of his desolate life for the loves of this ! " 



40 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

in. 

They wove for him garments with womanly prido, 
But he held his head with a sense of shame 

In his strange deceit and his sex denied, 

Then pursed his brow with a touch of blame. 



IV. 



They wrought for him armor of cunning attire, 
They brought him a sword and a great shell shield 
And implored him to shiver the lance on the field, 

And to follow then* beautiful Queen in her ire. 



1 



V. 



1 



But he took him apart; then the Amazons came 
And entreated of him with their eloquent eyes 
And their earnest and passionate souls of flame, 

And the soft, sweet words that are broken of sighs, 
To be one of their own, but he still denied, 

And he warr'd with himself, and his chivalrous heart 
Arose and rebell'd at the treacherous part 
He play'd for his life ; and he grew to despise 
The thought of himself wdth a shudder of shame. 
And bow'd and abash'd he stole farther aside. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 4I 

VI. 

lie stood by the palms and he lean'd in unrest, 
And standing alone, look'd out and afar, 
For his own fair land where the castles are, 

With irresolute arms on a restless breast. 

vn. 

He relived his loves, and recall'd his wars, 
He gazed and he gazed with a soul distress'd. 
Like a far sweet star that is lost in the west. 

Till the day was broken to a dust of stars. 

vni. 

They sigh'd, and they left him alone in the care 
Of faith fullest matron ; they moved to the field 
With the lifted sword and the sounding shield 

High fretting magnificent storms of hair. 

IX. 

And, true as the moon in her march of stars, 
The Queen stood forth in her fierce attire 

Worn as they train'd, or worn in the wars, 
As bright and as chaste as a flash of fire. 



42 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

X. 

With girdles of gold and of silver cross'd, 
And plaited, and chased, and bound together 
Broader and stronger than belts of leather. 

Cunningly fashion'd and blazon'd and boss'd — 

With diamonds circling her, stone upon stone, 
Above the breast where the borders fail, 

Below the breast Avhere the fringes zone. 
She moved in a glittering garment of mail. 

XI. 

The form made hardy and the waist made spare 
From athlete sports and adventures bold, 
The breastplate, fasten'd with clasps of gold. 

Was clasp'd, as close as the breasts could bear. — 

And bound and drawn to a delicate span. 

It flash'd in the red fi'ont ranks of the field — 

Was fashion'd full trim in its intricate plan 
And gloani'd as a sign, as well as a shield. 

That the virgin Queen was unyielding still, 
And pure as the tides that around her ran ; 

True to her trust, and strong in her will 
Of war. and hatred to the touch of man. 



\ 



1 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 43 

xn. 
Tlie field it was theirs in storm or in shine, 

So fairly they stood that the foe came not 

To the battle again, and the fair forgot 
The rage of battle; and they trimm'd the vine, 
They tended the fields of the tall green corn. 

They crush'd the grape, and they drew the wine 
In great round gourds or the bended horn, 

And seem'd as souls that are half divine. 

xm. 

They bathed in the wave in the amber morn, 
They took repose in the peaceful shade 
Of eternal palms, and were never afraid ; 

Yet still did they sigh, and look far and forlorn. 

XIV. 

Then down where waves by the white sands ran 
And left them laved with kisses, and these 

They journey'd away^with the caravan 

Of the grand old tide to the grander seas. — 

Where the rim of the wave was weaving a spell, 
And the grass grew soft where it hid from the sun, 
Would the Amazons gather them every one 

At the call of tlie Queen or tlie sound of her shell : 



44 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

XV. 

Would come in strides through the kingly trees, 

And train and marshal them brave and well 
In the golden noon, in the hush of peace 

Where the shifting shades of the fan-palms fell ; 
Would lean on their long quick quivering swords ; 

Would rest on their shields in a line at the side ; 
Would lifl their brows to the front and tow'rds 

Their Queen as she moved in her matchless pride • 

XVI. 

Would train till flush'd and as warm as wine, 

Would reach with their limbs, would thrust with the 

lance, 
Attack, retire, retreat and advance, 
Then wheel in column, then foil in line ; 
Stand thigh and thigh with the limbs made hard 
And rich and round as the swift-limb'd pard, 
Or a racer train'd, or a white bu^l caught 
Fn the lasso's toils, where the tame are not. 

xvn. 

Would curve as the waves curve, swerve in line ; 

Would dash through the trees, would train with the 
b'^w. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 45 

Then back to the lines, now sudden, then slow, 
Then flash then* swords in the sun at a sign ; 
Would settle the foot light firm afront, 

Then sound the shield till the sound was heard 
Afar, as the horn in the black boar hunt ; 

Yet, stranger than all, say never a word. 

xvin. 
When shadows fell far from the westward, and when 

The sun had kiss'd hands and made sail for the east, 
They would kindle the fires and gather them then, 

Well-worn and most merry with song, to the feast. 

XIX. 

There feasting in circles, they sang of the sun, 
Their prowess or valor, in peril or pain ; 

Till the Isles were awake and the birds were outdone ; 
And long ere the dawn were up singing again. 

XX. 

They sang of all things, but the one, sacred one. 

That could make them most glad, as they lifted the 

gourd 
And pass'd it around, with its rich purple hoard, 

From the Island that lay with its front to the sun. 



46 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXI. 

Though hps were made hiscious, and eyes as divine 
As the eyes of the skies that bend down from above • 
Though hearts were made glad and most mellow 
with love, 
As dripping gourds drain'd of their burthens of wine ; 
Though brimming, and dripping, and bent of their 

shape 
Were the generous gourds from the juice of the grape, 
They could sing not of love, they could breathe not a 

thought 
Of the savor of life ; love sought, or unsought. 

XXII. 

Their loves they were not ; they had banish'd the name 
Of man, and the uttermost mention of love, — 
The moonbeams about them, the quick stars abovb, 

The mellow-voiced waves, they were ever the same, 

In sign, and in saying, of the old true lies ; 
But they took no heed ; no answering sign, 

Save glances averted and half-hush'd sighs, 

Went back from the breasts with their loves divine. 

xxiir. 
They sang of their freedom with a will, and well, — 
They paid for it well when the price was bli.K>dj 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 47 

Tliey beat on the shield, and they blew on the shell, 

Wlien their wars were not, for they held it good 
To be glad and to sing till the flush of the day, 

In an annual feast, when the broad leaves fell ; 

Yet some sang not, and some sigh'd, "Ah, well I" — 
J^'or there 's far less left you to sing or to say, 
Wiien mettlesome love is bauisli'd, I ween, — 

To hint at as hidden, or to half disclose 
In the swift sword-cuts of the tongiu;, made keen 

With wine at a feast, — than one would suppose. 

XXIY. 

So the days wore by, but they brouglit no rest 

To the minstrel knight, tlxjugli the Kuri was as gold. 

And the Isles were green, and the Amazons blest 
In the splendor of arms, and as pure as bold. 

XXV. 

He now would resolve to reveal to her ;ill, 
His sex and his race in a well-timed song; 
And liis love of peace, his hatred of wrong, 

And his own deceit, though the sun should fall. 



48 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXVI. 

Then again he would linger, and knew not how 
lie could best proceed, and deferr'd him now 
Till a favorite day, then the fair day came, 
And still he delayed, and reproach'd him the same. 

XXVII. 

Then again he did vow to reveal full soon. 
Then deeply he blush'd, then upbraided sore 
The winds that had blown from the Castile shore, 

And walk'd by the waves in the gi'eat white moon. 

xxvni. 
He still said nought, but, subduing his head, 

He wander'd by day in a dubious spell 
Of unutterable thought of the truth unsaid. 

To the indolent shore ; and he gather'd a shell. 
And he shaped its point to his passionate mouth, 

And he turn'd to a bank and began to blow, 

While the Amazons train'd in a troop below. 
And as soil and as sweet as a kiss of the South. 

XXIX. 

It stirr'd their souls, and they ceased to train 
In troop by the shore, as tlic tremulous strain 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 49 

Fell down from the hill through the tasselling trees; 
And a murmur of song, like the sound of bees 
fn the clover crown of a queenly spring, 

Came back unto him, and he laid the shell 
Aside on the bank, and began to sing 

Of eloquent love ; and the ancient spell 
Of passionate song was his, and the Isle, 

As waked to delight from its slumber long, 
Came back in echoes ; yet all this while 

He knew not at all the sin of his song. 

XXX. 

Then the Amazons lifted with glad sui-prise. 
Stood splendid at first and look'd far and fair 
Set forward a foot, and shook back their hair 

Like clouds push'd back from the sun-lit skies. 



I 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS 



Pabt III. 



/ know upon this earth a spot 

Where clinking coins^ that clink as chains 

Upon the souls of men, are not; 
Nor man is measured for his gains 
Of gold that stream with crimson stains. 

The rivers run unmaster^d yet, 

Unmeasured sweep their sable bredes : 

The pampas unpossessed is set 

With stormy banners of her steeds, 
That rival man in martial deeds. 

The snow-topped towers crush the clouds 
And break the still abode of stars , 

Like sudden ghosts in snowy shrouds. 
New broken through their earthly bars 

And condors whet with crooked beaks 

The lofty limits of the peaks. 

men that fret as frets the main! 

You irk one with your eager gaze 
Down in the earth for fat increase — 

Eternal talks of gold and gain. 
Your shallow wit, your shallow ways . . • 

And breaks my soul across the shoal 
As breakers break on shallow seas. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



PRELUDE. 

T O, Isles of the Incas ! Amazon Isles, 

The sun hath loved you, clothed and crown'd. 
And touch'd you tenderly, gh't you round 
With a sunset wave in a wealth of smiles. 

O Isles of a wave in an ocean of wood ! 

O white waves lost in the wilds I love ! 

Let the red stars rest on your breast fi-om above, 
And sing to the sun, for his love it is good. 

He has made you his heirs, he has given you gold, 
And wrought for you garments of limitless green, 
With beautiful bars of the scarlet between, 

And of silver seams fretting you fold on fold. 

He has kiss'd and caress'd you, loved you true. 
Yea, loved as a God loves, loved as I 
Shall learn to love when the stars shall lie 

Like blooms at my feet in a field of blue. 



Part III. 
I. 

'T^HEY bared their brows to the palms above, 
But some look'd level into comrade's eyes, 
And they then remember'd that the thought of love 
Was the thing forbidden, and they sank in sighs. 

II. 

They turn'd fi'om the training, to heed in throng 
To the old, old tale ; and they train'd no more, 
As he sang of love ; and some on the shore, 

And full in the sound of the eloquent song. 

With a womanly air and irresolute will 
Went listlessly onward as gathering shells ; 
Then gazed in the waters, as women in spells ; 

Then turned to the song and sigh'd, and were still. 

in. 

And they said no word. Some tapp'd on the sniid 
With the sandall'd foot, keeping time to tliu sound, 

In a sort of dream; some timed with the hand, 
And one held eyes full of tears to the ground. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 55 

IV. 

She thought of the days when their wars were not, 

As she lean'd and listened to the old, old song, 
When they sang of their loves, and she well forgot 

The hard oppressions and a world of wrong. 
Like a pure true woman, with her trust in tears 

And the things that are true, she relived them in 
thought, 
Though hush'd and crush'd in the fall of the years • 

She lived but the fair, and the false she forgot 
As a tale long told, or as things that are dreams ; 

And the quivering curve of the lip confest 
The silent regrets, and a soul that teems 

With a world of love in a brave true breast. 

V. 

Then this one younger, who had known no love, 
N'or look'd upon man but in blood on the field, 
She bow'd her head, and she lean'd on her shield, 

And her heart beat quick as the wings of a dove 

That is blown from the sea, where the rests are not 
In the time of storms ; and by instinct taught 
Grew pensive, and sigh'd ; and she thought and she 
thought 

Of some wonderful things, and — she knew not of what. 



56 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

VI. 

Then this one thought of a love forsaken, 

She thought of a brown sweet babe, and she thought 
Of the bread-fruits gather'd, of the swift fibh taken 

In intricate nets, like a love well sought. 

vn. 

She thought of the moons of her maiden dawn, 
Mellow'd and fair with the forms of man ; 

So dearer indeed to dwell upon 

Than the beautiful waves that around her ran ; 

vm. 
So fairer indeed than the fringes of light 

That lie at rest on the west of the sea 
In furrows of foam on the borders of night. 

And dearer indeed than the songs to be — 
Than calling of dreams from the opposite land, 

To the land of life, and of journeys dreary 

When the soul goes over fi-om the form grown weary, 
And walks in the cool of the ti'ees on the strand. 

IX. 

But the Queen was enraged and would smite him at first 
With the sword unto death, yet it seem'd that she durst 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. S7 

Not toucli him at all ; and she moved as to chide, 
And she lifted her face, and she fi-own'd at his side, 
Then touch'd on his arm ; then she look'd in his eyes 
And right full in his soul, but she saw no fear 
In the j)ale fair face, and with frown severe 
She press'd her lips as suj^pressing her sighs. 

X. 

She banish'd her wrath, she unbended her face, 
She lifted her hand and put back his hair 
From his fair sad brow, with a penitent air. 

And forgave him all with an unutter'd grace ; 

For she said no word. Yet no more was severe ; 
She stood as subdued by the side of him still, 
Then averted her face with a resolute will. 

As to hush a regi*et, or to hide back a tear. 

XI. 

She sigh'd to herself: "A stranger is this. 
And ill and alone, that knows not at all 
That a throne shall totter and the strong shall fall, 

At the mention of love and its banefullest bliss. 

O life that is lost in bewildering love — 
But a stranger is sacred ! " She lifted a hand 
3* 



58 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

And she laid it as soft as the breast of a dove 

On the minstrel's mouth. It was more than the wand 

Of the tamer of serpents ; for she did no more 

Than to bid with her eyes and to beck with her hand, 

And the song drew away to the waves of the shore ; 
Took wings, as it were, to the verge of the land. 

xn. 

But her heart was oppress'd. With penitent head 
She turn'd to her troop, and, retiring, she said : 
" Alas ! and alas \ shall it come to pass 
That the panther shall die from a blade of grass ? 
That the tiger shall yield at the bent-horn blast ? 
That we, who have conquered a world and all 
Of men and of beasts in the world, must fall 
Ourselves, at the mention of love, at last ? " 

xm. 

The singer was fretted, and farther apart 
He wander'd, perplex'd ; and he felt his heart 
Beat quick and troubled, and all untamed. 
As he saw her move with marvellous grace 
To her troop below ; he turn'd from his place, 



I 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 59 

Oppress'd and humbled, and sore ashamed 
That he lived in the land in the shield of a lie; 
That he dared not stand forth face to face 
To the truth, and die as a knight should die. 

XIV. 

The tall brown Queen, when turn'd to her troop, 
Led minstrel and all to the innermost part 

Of the palm-crown'd Isle, where great trees group 
In armies, to battle when black storms start. 

And made her retreat from the sun by the trees 
That are topped like tents, where the fire-flies 
Are a light to the feet, and a f lir lake lies 

As cool as the coral-set centres of seas. 

XV. 

And here the carpets of I^ature were spread, 
Made pink with blossoms and fragrant bloom; 

Her soft couch, canopied overhead. 
Allured to sleep with the deep perfume. 

XVI. 

The sarsaparilla had woven its thread 

So through and through, like the threads of gold; 

'Twas stronger than thongs in its thousandfold, 
And on every hand and up overhead 



6o ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

Ran thick as threads on the rim of a reel, 
Through red leaf and dead leaf, bough and vine, 
The green and the gray leaf, coarse and fine, 

And the cactus tinted with cochineal. 

xvn. 

And every color that the Master Sun 

Has painted and hung in the halls of God, 
Blush'd in the boughs or spread on the sod, 

Pictured and woven and wound as one. 

xvin. 

The tamarind and the cocoa-tree, 

The quick cinchona, the red sangre. 

The keen caressa, the sycamore, 

Were woof and warp as wide as the shore. 

XIX. 

The palm-trees lorded the copse like kings. 
Their tall tops tossing the indolent clouds 
That folded the Isle in the dawn, like shrouds, 

Then fled from the sun like to living things. 

The cockatoo swung in the vines below, 
And muttering hung on a golden threail. 

Or moved on the moss'd bough to and fro, 
In plumes of gold and array'd in red. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 6l 

XX. 

The lake lay hidden away from the light, 
As asleep in the Isle from the tropical noon, 
And narrow and bent like a new-born moon, 

And fair as a moon in the noon of the night. 

XXI. 

'Twas shadow'd by forests, and fringed by ferns, 
And fretted anon by the fishes that leapt 
At indolent flies that slept or kept 

Their drowsy tones on the tide by turns. 

xxn. 
And here in the dawn when the day was strong 

And newly aroused from leafy repose, 

With dews on his feet and tints of the rose 
In his great flush'd face, was a sense and song 
That the tame old world has nor known nor heard 

The soul was fill'd with the soft perfumes, 
Tlie eloquent wings of the humming bird 
Beguiled the heart, they purpled the air 
And allured the eye, as so everywhere 
On the rim of the wave, or across it in swings. 

They swept or they sank in a sea of blooms, 
And wove and wound in a song of wings. 



62 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

xxm. 

The senses drank of the fragrance deep, 
The glad soul question'd it whether or no 
It had risen above or yet dwelt below, 

Or whether to laugh for love or to weep. 

XXIV. 

A bird in scarlet and gold, made mad 
With sweet delights, through the branches slid 
And kiss'd the lake on a drowsy lid 

Till the ripples ran and the face was glad • 

XXV. 

Was glad and lovely as lights that sweep 
The face of heaven when stars are forth 
In autumn time through the awful north, 

Or the face of a child when it smiles in sleep. 

XXVI. 

And here was the Queen, in the tropical noon. 

When the wave and the world and all were asleep, 
And nothing look'd forth to betray or to peep 

Through glories of jungle in garments of June, 



3 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 63 

To bathe with her court in the waters that bent 
In the beautiful lake through tasselling trees, 
And the tangle of blooms in a burden of bees, 
As bold and as sharp as a bow unspent. 

XXVII. 

And strangely still, and more strangely sweet, 
Was the lake that lay in its cradle of fern, 
As still as a moon with her horns that turn 

In the night, like lamps to some delicate feet. 

xxvni. 

They came and they stood by the brink of the tide, 

They hung their shields on the boughs of the trees. 
They lean'd their lances against the side. 

Unloosed their sandals, and busy as bees 
That ply with industrious wing perfumes, 

IJngather'd their robes in the rustle of leaves 
And nodding of reeds and the beautiful blooms 

That wound them as close as the wine-vine weaves. 

XXIX. 

The minstrel had falter'd, and further aside 

Than ever before he averted- his head ; 
He pick'd up a pebble and fretted the tide, 

Then turn'd with a countenance flush'd and red, 



64 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXX. 

He feign'd him ill, he wandered away, 
He sat him down by the waters alone, 

And prayed for pardon, as a knight should pray, 
And rued an error not all his own. 

XXXI. 

The Amazons press'd to the girdle of reeds. 
Two and by two they advanced to the wave, 
They challenged each other, and bade be brave, 

And banter'd, and vaunted of valorous deeds. 

xxxn. 

They push'd and they parted the curtains of green, 
All timid at first ; then look'd at the wave 
And laugh'd ; retreated, then came up brave 

To the brink of the water, led on by their Queen. 

xxxm. 

Again they retreated, again advanced. 

And parted the boughs in a proud disdain, 

Then bent their heads to the waters, and glanced 
Below, then blush'd, and then laugh'd again ; 



1 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 65 



XXXIV. 



A bird awaken'd, then all dismay'd 

With a womanly sense of a beautiful shame 
That strife and changes had left the same, 

They shrank to the leaves and the sombre shade. 



XXXV. 



At last, press'd forward a beautiful pair 
And bent to the wave, and bending they blush'd 
As rich as the wines, when the waters rush'd 

To the dimpled limbs, and laugh'd in their hair. 



xxxvr. 



The fair troop foUow'd with shouts and cheers, 
They cleft the wave, and the friendly ferns 
Came down in curtains and curves and turns, 

And a brave palm lifted a thousand spears. 



xxxvrr. 

From under the ferns and away fi-om the land. 
And out in the wave until lost below, 
There lay, as white as a bank of snow, 

A long and a beautiful border of sand. 



66 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXXVIII. 

Here clothed alone in their clouds of hair 
And curtain'd about by the palm and fern, 

And made as their Maker had made them, fair, 
And sjDlendid of natural grace and turn ; 

XXXIX. 

Untrammell'd by art and untroubled by man 
They tested their strength, or tried their speed, 

And here they wrestled, and there they ran, 
As supple and lithe as the watery reed. 

XL. 

The great trees shadow'd the bow-tipp'd tide. 
And nodded their plumes from the opposite side. 
As if to whisper, Take care ! take care ! 
But the meddlesome sunshine here and there, 
Kept pointing a finger right under the trees, — . 
Kept shifting the branches and wagging a hand 
At the round brown limbs on the border of sand, 
And seem'd to whisper, Ho ! what are these ? 

XLI. 

The gold-barr'd butterflies to and fro 

And over the waterside wander'd and wove 
As heedless and idle as clouds tliat rove 

And drift by the peaks of perjjetual snow. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 67 

XLII. 

A monkey swung out fi'om a bough in the skies, 
White-whisker'd and ancient, and wisest of all 
Of his populous race, and he heard them call 

And he Avatch'd them long, with his head sidewise, 

From under his brows of amber and brown, 
All patient and silent and never once stirr'd ; 

Then he shook his head and he hasten'd him down 
To his army below and said never a word. 



1 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



Pabt IV. 



There is many a love in the land, my love. 

But never a love like this is ; 
Then kill me dead with your love, my love^ 

And cover me up with kisses 

So kill me dead and cocer me deep 
Where never a soul discovers ; 

Deep in your heart to sleep, to sleep 
In the dariingest tomh of lovers. 



♦ 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



PRELUDE. 

TT seems to me that Mother Earth 

Is weary from eternal toil 
And bringing forth by fretted soil 
In all the agonies of birth. 
Sit down ! sit down ! Lo, it were best 
That we should rest, that she should rest 

Let buffalo possess the land, 

Let foxes populate the towns, 

And wild deer wander throuoh the downa* 

Here we will laugh, nor lift a hand ; 

And laugh that man should ever care 

For flock or field or mansion fair ! 

No ship shall founder in the seas, 
Nor soldier fall in martial line. 
Nor miner perish in the mine. 
Here we shall tent beneath the trees, 



72 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

Where wife nor maid shall wait or weep, 
For Earth shall sleep, and all shall sleep. 

I think we then shall all be glad, 
At least I know we are not now ; 
Not one. And even Earth somehow 
Seems growing old and over sad. 
Then fold your hands, for it were best 
That we should rest, that she should rest 



Part IV. 



' I "^HE wanderer took him apart from the place ; 

He look'd up in the boughs at the gold bird? 
there, 
He counted the humming-birds fretting the air, 
And brush'd at the butterflies fanning his face. 



n. 

He sat him down in a crook of the wave 
And away from the Amazons, under the skies 

Where great trees curved to a leaf-lined cave, 
And lifted his hands and shaded his eyes ; 

in. 

And he held his head to the north when they came 
To run on the reaches of sand from the south, 
And he pull'd at his chin, and he pursed his mouth, 

And he shut his eyes with a shudder of shame. 
4 



74 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

He reach'd from the bank and he brake him a reed — 
A bamboo reed — fi'om the brink below ; 

And he notched it and trimm'd it with all his speed, 
And lifted it up and began to blow 

As if to himself; as the sea sometimes 

Does soothe and soothe in a low, sweet song, 

When his rage is spent, and the beach swells strong j 

With sweet repetitions of alliterate rhymes. 

IV. 

The echoes blew back from the indolent land ; 
Silent and still sat the tropical bird, 
And only the sound of the reed was heard, 

As the Amazons ceased from their sports on the sand. 

V. 

Tliey rose fi*om the wave, and inclining the head. 
They listen'd intent, with the delicate tip 
Of the finger touch'd to the pouting lip. 

Till the brown Queen turn'd in the tide, and led 

Thi'ough the opaUne lake, and under the shade, 
And along the shore, and below the ferns 
Where the bent boughs reach'd and return'd by turns, 

To the shore where the chivalrous singer played. 



ISI.es of the AMAZONS. 7$ 

VI. 

He bended his head and he shaded his eyes 
As well as he might with his lifted fingers, 

And ceased to sing. But in mute surprise, 
He saw them linojer as a child that lino;ers 
Allured by a song thrown down to the street, 

And looks bewilder'd about from its play. 
For the last loved notes that fall at its feet ; 

And he heard them whisper, he saw them sway 
Aside and before and silent and sweet. 

vn. 

The soft notes swell'd, and the air swept loud. 
They drew to the sound as if borne in a dream ; 

As blown in the purple and gold of a cloud. 
Or borne on the breast of a crystalline stream. 



vni. 

But the singer was vexed ; he averted his head ; 
He lifted his eyes to the mosses aside 
For a brief, little time, but they turn'd to the tide 

In spite of his will, or of prayers well said. 



'](i ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

IX. 

He press'd four fingers against each lid, 
Till the light was gone ; yet for all that he did 
It seem'd that the lithe forms lay and beat 
Afloat in his face and full under his feet. 

X. 

He seem'd to behold the billowy breasts, 
And the rounded limbs in their pure unrests — 
To see them swim as the mermaid swims, 
With the drifting dimpled, delicate limbs, 
Folded and hidden in robes of hair ; 
While fishes of gold shot here and there 
Below their breasts and above their feet, 
Like birds in a beautiful garden of sweet. 

XI. 

It seems to me there is more that sees 

Than the eyes in man; you may close your eyes, 
You may turn your back, and may still be wise 

In sacred and marvellous mysteries. 

XII. 

He saw as one sees the sun of a noon 
In the sun-kiss'd south, when the eyes are closed ■ 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 77 

He saw as one sees the bars of a moon 

That fall through the boughs of the tropical trees, 

When he lies at length, and is all composed, 
And asleep in his hammock by the sundown seas. 

xnr. 

He heard the waters beat, bubble and fret ; 
He lifted his eyes, yet forever they lay 
Afloat in the tide; and he turn'd him away 

And resolved to fly and for aye to forget. 

XIV. 

He rose up strong, and he cross'd him twice. 
He nerved his heart and he lifted his head, 

He crush'd the treacherous reed in a trice, 
With an angry foot, and he turn'd and fled ; 

XV. 

And flying, confused like a pitiful slave. 
He question'd himself most sore as he fled, 

If he most was a knight, or most was a knave, -^ 
And flying he hurriedly turn'd his head 

Back over his shoulder, and sudden aside. 
With an eager glance, with meddlesome eyes, 
As a woman will turn : and he saw arise 

The beautiful Queen from the silvery tide. 



yS ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

XVI. 

She toss'd her hair, and she turn'd her eyes 
With all of their splendor to his as he fled, 

And all their glory, and a strange surprise. 
And a sad reproach and a world unsaid. 

xvn. 
He beat on their shields, they rose in array, 

As aroused from a trance, and hurriedly came 
From out of the wave and he wander'd away. 

Wild-fretting his sensitive soul with blame, 
Until all array'd ; then ill and opprest, 

And bitterly cursing the treacherous reed, 
Return'd with his hand on his turbulent breast, 

And struck to the heart, and most ill indeed. 

xvin. 
Alone he would sit in the shadows at noon, 

Alone he would sit by the waters at night ; 

Would sing sad-voiced, as a woman might. 
With pale, kind face to the cold, pale moon. 

XIX. 

He would here advance, and would there retreat, 
As a petulant child that has lost its way 
In the redolent walks of a sultry day. 

And wanders around with in-esolute feet. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 79 



XX. 



He would press his hand in pain to his heart, 
He would fold his hands, he would toss his hair 

From his brow, then turn to the palms, and apart 
From eyes that pursued, with a pitiful air. 



XXI. 

He made him a harp of mahogany wood. 
He strung it well with the sounding strings 
Of the ostrich thews, from the ostrich wings. 

And play'd and sang in a sad sweet rune. 
He hang'd his harp in the vines, and stood 

By the tide at night, in the palms at noon, 
And lone as a ghost in the shadowy wood. 

XXII. 

Then two grew sad, and alone sat she 

By the great, strong stream, and she bow'd her head, 

Then lifted her face to the tide and said, 
" 0, pure as a tear and as strong as a sea, 

Yet tender to me as the touch of a dove, 
I had rather sit sad and alone by thee. 

Tlian to go and be glad, with a legion in love." 



80 TSLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

xxnr. 
She sat sometime at the wanderer's side 

As the kingly water went wandering by ; 

And the two once look'd, and they knew not why, 
Full sad in each other's eyes, and they sigh'd. 

XXIV. 

She courted the solitude under the rim 

Of the trees that reach'd to the resolute stream, 
And gazed in the waters as one in a dream, 

Till her soul grew heavy and her eyes gi-ew dim 

To the fair delights of her own fair Isles. 
She turn'd her face to the stranger again. 

He cheer'd with song and allured with smiles, 
But cheer'd, and allured, and soothed in vain. 

XXV. 

She bow'd her head with a beautiful grief 

That grew from her pity ; she forgot her anus. 
And she made neglect of the battle alarms 

That threaten'd the land ; the banana's leaf 

Made shelter ; he lifted his harp again, 
She sat, she listen'd intent and long, 

Forgetting her care and forgetting her pain — 
Made sad for the singer, made glad fi*om his song. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 8 1 

XXVI. 

But the braves waxed cold ; the white moons waned, 
And the brown Queen marshall'd them never cnce 

more, 
With sword and with shield, in the palms by tlie 
shore ; 

But they sat them down to repose, or remained 

Apart and scattered in the tropic-leaf d trees, 
As sadden'd by song, or for loves delay'd. 
Or away in the Isle in couples they stray'd, 

Not at all content in their Isles of peace. 

xxvn. 

They wander'd away to the lakes once more, 
Or walk'd in the moon, or they sigh'd, or slept, 

Or they sat in pairs by the shadowy shore, 
And silent song with the waters kept. 

XXVIII. 

There was one who stood by the waters one eve. 

With the stars on her hair, and the bars of the moon 
Broken up at her feet by the bountiful boon 

Of extending old trees, who did questioning grieve : 



82 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

" The birds they go over us two and by two ; 
The mono is mated ; his bride in the boughs 
Sits nursing his babe, and his passionate vows 

Of love, you may hear them the whole day through. 

" The lizard, the cayman, the white-toothed boar, 
The serpents that glide in the sword-leaf'd grass, 
The beasts that abide or the birds that pass, 

They are glad in their loves as the green-leaf d shore. 

" There is nothing that is that can yield one bliss 
Like an innocent love ; the leaves have tongue 
And the tides talk low in the reeds, and the young 

And the quick buds open their lips but for this. 

" In the steep and the starry silences. 

On the stormy levels of the limitless seas, 
Or here in the deeps of the dark-brow'd trees, 

There is nothing so much as a brave man's kiss. 

" There is nothing so strong, in the stream, on the land, 
In the valley of palms, on the pinnacled snow, 
In the clouds of the gods, on the grasses below, 

As the silk-soft touch of a baby's brown hand. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. ^^ 

" It were better to sit and to spin on a stone 

The whole year through with a babe at the knee, 
With its brown hands reaching caressingly, 

Thau to sit in a girdle of gold and alone. 

* O barren dull days, where never the brown 
Sweet hand of a babe hides back in the hair 
When a mother comes home with her burthen of care, 

And over the life of her life bends down. 

" It were better perhaps to be mothers of men, 

And to murmur not much ; there are clouds in the 

sun. . . . 
Can a woman undo what the sfods have done ? 

Nay, the things must be as the things have been," 

XXIX. 

They wander'd well forth, some here and some there, 

Unsatisfied some and irresolute all. 

The sun was the same, the moonlight did fall 
Rich-barr'd and refulgent ; the stars were as fair 
As ever were stars ; the fruitful clouds cross'd 

And the harvest fail'd not ; yet the fair Isle grew 

As a prison to all, and they search'd on through 
The magnificent shades as for things that were lost. 



84 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXX. 

The minstrel, more pensive, went deep in tlie wood, 
And oft-time delay'd him the whole day through, 
As charm'd by the deeps, or the sad heart drew 

Some solaces sweet from the solitude. 

XXXI. 

The singer forsook them at last, and the Queen * 
Came seldom then forth from the fierce deep wood. 
And her warriors, dark-brow'd and bewildering stood 

In bands by the wave in the complicate screen 

Of overbent boughs. They would lean on their spears 
And would talk sometimes low-voiced and by twos, 
As allured by longings they could not refuse. 

And would sidewise look, as beset by their fears. 

XXXIl. 

They wander'd and watched as the days waxed full, 
All listless and slow, and spurning the shells 
With brown sandall'd feet, to the whimsical swell 

Of the wine-dark wave with its foam like wool. 

xxxm. 

Once, wearied and sad, by the shadowy trees 
In the flush of the sun they sank to their rests, 
The dark hair veiling the beautiful breasts 

That arose in billows, as mists veil seas. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 8$ 



XXXIV. 



Then away to the dream-world one and by one ; 
The great red sun in his purple was roll'd, 
And red-wing'd birds and the birds of gold 

Were above in the trees like the beams of the sun. 



XXXV. 

Then the sun came down, with his ladders of gold 
Built up of his beams, and the souls arose 
And ascended on these, and the fair repose 

Of the negligent forms was a feast to behold. 

XXXVI. 

The round brown limbs they were reached or drawn, 
The grass made dark with the fervor of hair ; 
And here were the rose-red lips, and there 

A flushed breast rose like a sun at a dawn. 

XXXVII. 

The copper-bound shields lay silent beside, 

Their lances were lean'd to the leaning old trees, 
While away in the sun an irresolute breeze 

With a rippled quick step stole over the tide. 



86 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



XXXVIII. 

Then black-wingM birds blew over in pair, 
Listless and slow, as they call'd of the seas, 
And sounds came down through the tangle of trees 

As lost, and nestled and hid in their hair. 

XXXIX, 

They started disturbed, they sprang as at war 
To lance and to shield ; but the dolorous sound 
"Was gone from the wood ; they gazed around 

And saw but the birds, black- winged and afar. 

XL. 

They gazed at each other, then turn'd them unheard, 
Slow trailing their lances in long single line ; 
They moved through the forest, all dark as the sign 

Of death that fell down from the ominous bird. 

XLI. 

Then the great sun died, and a rose-red bloom 
Grew over his grave in a border of gold, 
And a cloud with a silver-white rim was roll'd 

Like a cold gray stone at the door of a tomb. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS, 8; 



XLH. 



TheD away on the wave the invisible night, 
With her eyes of stars and her storms of hair 
Sail'd on in her wonderful ships of air, 

And the Isle lay dimpled in calm delight. 



XLin. 



Strange voices were heard, sad visions were seen, 
By sentries, betimes, on the opposite shore. 

Where broad boughs bended their curtains of green 
Far over the wave with their tropical store. 



XLIV. 



A sentry bent low on her palms and she peer'd 
Suspiciously through ; and, heavens ! a man, 

Low-brow'd and wicked, look'd backward, and jeer'd 
And taunted right fi^ll in her foce as he ran : 



XLV. 



A low crooked man, with eyes like a bird, — 
A& round and as cunning, — who came from the land 
Of lakes, where the clouds lie low and at hand, 

And the songs of the bent black swans are heard ; 



88 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



XLVI. 

Where men are most cunning and cruel withal, 
And are famous as spies, and are supple and fleet, 
And are webb'd like the water-fowl under the feet, 

And they swim like the swans, and like pelicans call. 

XLvn. 

And again, on a night when the moon she was not, 
A sentry saw stealing, as still as a dream, 
A sudden canoe down the mid of the streiim, 

Like gleamings of light, and as swift as a thought. 

XLVin. 

And lo ! as it pass'd, from the prow there arose 
A dreadful and gibbering, hairy old man. 
Loud laughing, as only a maniac can, 

And shaking a lance at the land of his foes ; 

XLIX. 

Then sudden it vanish'd, as swift as it came. 

Far down through the walls of the shadowy wood, 

And the great moon rose like a forest aflame, 
All threat'ning, sullen, and red like blood. 



« 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
Past V. 



Well, we have threaded through and through 
The gloaming forests. Fairy Isles, 
Afloat in sun and summer smiles^ 

As fallen stars infields of blue; 
Some futile wars with subtile love 

That mortal never vanquished yetj 

Some symphonies by angels set 
In wave below, in bough above, 

Were yours and mine ; but here adieu. 

And if it com£ to pass some days 

That you groio weary, sad, and you 
Lift up deep eyes from dusty ways 

Of mart and moneys, to the blue 
And pure cool waters, isle and vine. 

And bathe you there, and then arise 
Refreshed by one fresh thought of mine, 

I rest content ; I kiss your eyes, 
I kiss your hair, in my delight : 
I kiss my hand, a^id say, " Good-night.* 

May love be thine by sun or moon, 
May peace be thine by peaceful way 
Through all the darling days of May, 

Through all the genial days of June, 
To golden days that die in smiles 
Of sunset on the blessed Isles. 



k 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



PRELUDE. 



"XT THEN" spires shall shine on the Amazon's shore, 

From temples of God, and time sh:ill have roll'd 
Like a scroll from the border the limitless wold ; 
When the tiger is tamed, and the mono no more 



Swings over the waters to chatter and call 
To the crocodile sleeping in rushes and fern ; 
When cities shall gleam, and their battlements bum 

In the sunsets of gold, where the cocoa-nuts fall ; 

'Twill be something to lean from the stars and to know 
That the engine, red-mouthing with turbulent tongue, 

The white ships that come, and the cargoes that go. 
We invoked them of old when the nations were 
young : 



92 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

'Twill be somethinGj to know that we named them of 
old,— 
That we said to the nations, Lo ! here is the fleece 
That allures to the rest, and the perfectest peace. 

With its foldings of sunlight shed mellow like gold; 

That we were the Carsons in kingdoms untrod, 
And follow'd the trail through the rustle of leaves, 
And stood by the wave where solitude weaves 

Her garments of mosses, and lonely as God : 

That we did make venture when singers were young, 
Inviting from Europe, from long-trodden lands 
That are easy of journeys, and holy from hands 

Laid upon by the Masters when giants had tongue : 

The prophet should lead us, — and lifting a hand 
To the world on the way, like a white guiding star. 
Point out and allure to the fair and unknown, 

And the far, and the hidden delights of a land. 

Behold my Sierras ! there singers shall throng ; 

The Andes shall break through the wings of the 

night 
As the fierce condor breaks through the clouds in his 
flight ; 
And I here plant the cross and possess them with song. 



Part Y. 



T" TELL you that love is the bitterest sweet 
That ever laid hold on the heart of a man ; 
A chain to the soul, and to cheer as a ban, 
And a bane to the brain, and a snare to the feet. 



n. 



Ay ! who shall ascend on the hollow white wings 
Of love but to fall ; to fall and to learn, 
Like a moth, and a man, that the lights lure to burn, 

That the roses have thorns, and the honey-bee stings ? , 



ni. 



I say to you surely that grief shall befall ; 
I lift you my finger, I caution you true, 
And yet you go forward, laugh gayly, and you 

Must learn for yourself, then mourn for us all. 



94 rSLES OF THE AMAZONS, 

IV. 

You had better be drown'd than to love and to dream, 
It were better to sit on a moss-grown stone, i 

And away fi'om the sun, and forever alone. 

Slow pitching white pebbles at trout in th^ stream. 

V. 

Alas for a heart that is left forlorn ! 

If you live you must love ; if you love, regret, — 
It were better, perhaps, we had never been born, 

Or better, at least, we could well forget. 

VI. 

The clouds are above us, and snowy and cold. 
And what is beyond but the steel-gray sky. 
And the still far stars that twinkle and lie 

Like the eyes of a love or delusions of gold ! 

vn. 

Ah ! who would ascend ? The clouds are above. 

Ay ! all things perish ; to rise is to fall. 
And alack for lovers, and alas for love. 

And alas that we ever were born at all. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 95 

vm. 

The minstrel now stood by the border of wood, 
But not as alone ; with a resolute heart ; 

He reach'd his hand, like to one made strong, 

Forgot his silence and resumed his song, 
And aroused his soul, and assumed his part 

With a passionate will, in the palms where he stood. 



IX. 

" She is sweet as the breath of the Castile rose, 
She is warm to the heart as a world of wine. 

And as rich to behold as the rose that grows 
With its red heart bent to the tide of the Rhine. 

" O hot blood born of the heavens above ! 

I shall drain her soul, I shall drink her up ; 
I shall love with a searching and merciless love, 

I shall sip her lips as the brown bees sup, 

" From the great gold heart of the buttercup ! 

I shall live and love ! I shall have my day, 
Let the suns fall down or the moons rise up, 

And die in my time, and who shall gainsay ? 



96 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

* What boots me the battles that I have fought 
With self for honor ? My brave resolves ; 
And who takes note ? The soul dissolves 

In a sea of love, and the land is forgot. 

'* The march of men, and the drift of ships, 
The dreams of fame, and desires for gold. 
Shall go for aye, as a tale that is told, 

Wor divide for a day my lips from her lips. 

' And a knight shall rest, and none shall say nay, 
In a green Isle wash'd by an arm of the seas, 
And wall'd from the world by the white Andes, 

For the years are of age and can go their way." 
• ••••• 

X. 

The sentinel stood on the farthermost land. 
And shouted aloud to the shadowy forms : 
" He comes, he comes, in the strength of storms," 

And struck her shield, and, her sword in hand, 

XI. 

She cried, " He comes with his silver spears. 
With flint-tipp'd arrows and bended bows, 

To take our blood, though we give him tears, 
And to flood our Isle in a world of woes." 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 97 

xn. 

" He comes, O Queen of the sun-kiss'd Isle, 

He comes as a wind comes, blown from the seas, 
In a cloud of canoes, on the curling breeze, 

With his shields of tortoise and of crocodile." 

\ 
xm. 

She dared them come like a storm of seas, 

To come as the winds come, fierce and frantic ; 
As sounding down to the far Atlantic, 

And sounding away to the deep Andes. 

XIV. 

She rush'd her down where the white tide ran. 
She breasted away where the breakers reel'd. 

She shook her sword in the foeman's van. 
And beat, as the waves beat, sword on shield. 



XV. 

Sweeter than swans are a maiden's graces ! 
Sweeter than fruits are the kisses of mom I 
Sweeter than babes is a love new-born, 

But sweeter than all are a love's embraces. 
5 G 



98 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 



XVI. 



She slept at peace, and the sentries' warning 
Could hardly awaken the splendid Queen ; 
She slept in peace in the opaline 

Hush and blush of the tropic morning ; 



XVII. 

And bound about by the twining glory, 
Vine and trellis in the vernal morn. 
As still and sweet as a babe new-born. 

The brown Queen dream'd of the old new story 

xvin. 

But hark ! her sentry's passionate words. 
The sound of shields, and the clash of swords I 
And slow she comes, her head on her breast, 
And her two hands held as to plead for rest. 

XIX. 

Where, O where, are the Juno graces ? 

Where, O where, is the glance of Jove, 
When the Queen comes forth from the sacred places, 

Hidden away in the heart of the grove ? 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 99 

XX. 

Too deep, too deep, of the waters of love, 
The beautiful woman had drunk in the wood : 
The dangerous, wonderful waters that fill 
The soul with wine that subdues the will. 
She doubled her hands and she helpless stood. 
With her head held down and her hands above. 

XXI. 

They rallied around as of old, — they besought her, 
With swords to the sun and the sounding shield, 
To lead them again to the glorious field, 

So sacred to Freedom; and, breathless, they brought 
her 

Her buckler and sword, and her armor all bright 
With a thousand gems enjewell'd in gold. 
She lifted her head with the look of old. 

An instant only ; with all of her might 

She sought to be strong and majestic again : 

She bared them her arms and her ample brown 

breast ; 
They lifted her armor, they strove to invest 

Her form in armor, but they strove in vain ; 



lOO ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

xxn. 
rt closed no more, but clanged on the ground, 
Like the foil of a knight, with an ominous sound, 
And she shook her hair and she cried, " Alas ! 
That love should come and that life should pass ; " 
And she cried, " Alas ! to be cursed . . . and bless'd, 
For the nights of love and the noons of rest." 

xxin. 

Her warriors wonder'd ; they wandered apart, 
And trail'd their swords, and subdued their eyes 
To earth in sorrow and in hush'd surprise. 

And forgot themselves in their pity of heart. 

XXIV. 

" O Isles of the sun," cried the blue-eyed youth, 
" O Edens new-made and let down from above ! 
Be sacred to peace and to passionate love. 

Made happy in peace and made holy with truth. 

XXV. 

" O gardens of God, new-planted below ! 

Shall rivers be red ? Shall day be night ? " 
He stood in the wood with his face to the foe, 

Apart with his buckler and sword for the fight. 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 10 1 

XXVI. 

But the fair Isle fiU'd with the fierce invader; 
They form'd on the strand, they lifted their spears, 
Where never was man for years and for years, 

And moved on the Queen. She lifted and laid her 

Finger-tip to her lips. For O sweet 
Was the song of love, and the song new-born, 
That the minstrel blew in the virgin morn, 

Away where the trees and the soft sands meet. 

XXVII. 

The strong men lean'd and their shields let fall, 
And slowly they moved with their trailing spears, 
And heads bow'd down as if bent with years. 

And an air of gentleness over them all. 

xxvin. 

The men grew glad as the song ascended. 
They lean'd their lances against the palms, 
They reach'd their arms as to reach for alms. 

And the Amazons came — and their reign was ended. 

XXIX. 

They reach'd their arms to the arms extended. 
Put by their swords, and no more seem'd sad. 

But moved as the men moved, tall and splendid, — 
Mingled together, and were all made glad. 



I02 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 

XXX. 

Then the Queen stood tall, as of old she had stood, 
With her face to the sun and her breast to the foe ; 
Then moved like a king, unheeding and slow, 

And aside to the singer in the fringe of the wood, 

XXXI. 

She led hira forth, and she bade him sing : 

Then bade him cease ; and the gold of his hair 
She touch'd with her hands ; she embraced him I 
there, 

Then lifted her voice and proclaim' d him King. 



XX xn. 

And the nien made fair in their new-found loves, 
They all cried, " King ! " and again and again. 
Cried, "Long may they live, and long may they 
reign. 

As true in their loves as the red-bill'd doves : 

xxxm. 

" Ay, long may they live, and long may they love. 
And their blue-eyed babes with the years increase, 
And we all have love, and we all have peace, 

While the seas are below or the sun is above. 



i 



ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. IO3 



XXXIV. 



" Let the winds blow fair and the fruits be gold, 
And the gods be gracious to King and to Queen, 
While the tides are gray or the Isles are green. 

Or the moons wax new, or the moons wane old ! " 



XXXV. 



The tawny old crone here lays her stone 
On the leaning grass and reaches a hand ; 
The day like a beautiful dream has flown. 
The curtains of night come down on the land, 
And I dip to the oars ; but ere I go, 
I tip her an extra bright pesos or so. 
And I smile my thanks, for I think them due • 
But, fairest of readers, now what think you ? 



^ 



FROM SEA TO SEA. 



We glide through golden seas of gram. 
We shoot, a shining comet, through 
The mounlain range against the blue 
And then below the walls of snow, 
We blow the desert dust amain ; 
We brush the gay madrona tree, 
We greet the orange groves below^ — 
We rest beneath the oaks ; and we 
Have cleft a continent in twain. 



FROM SEA TO SEA. 



OHAKE hands! kiss hands in haste to the sea, 

Where the sun comes in, and mount with rae 
The matchless steed of the strong New World, 
That champs and chafes with a strength untold, — 
And away to the West, where the waves are curl'd, 
As they kiss white palms to the capes of gold ! 
A girth of brass and a breast of steel, 
A breath of fire and a flaming mane, 
An iron hoof and a steel-clad heel, 
A Mexican bit and a massive chain 
Well tried and wrought in an iron rein ; 
And away ! away ! with a shout and yell 
That had stricken a legion of old with fear. 
That had started the dead from their graves whilere, 
And startled the damn'd in hell as well. 

Stand up ! stand out! where the wind comes in, 
And the wealth of the seas pours over you, 
As its health floods up to the face like wine, 
And a breath blows up from the Delaware 



ro8 FROM SEA TO SEA, 

And the Susquehanna. We feel the might 

Of armies in us ; the blood leaps through 

The frame with a fresh and a keen delight 

As the Alleghanies have kiss'd the hair, 

With a kiss blown far through the rush and din, 

By the chestnut burs and through boughs of pine. 

n. 

O seas in a land ! O lakes of mine ! 
By the love I bear and the songs I bring 
Be glad with me ! lift your waves and sing 
A song in the reeds that surround your isles ! — 
A song of joy for this sun that smiles. 
For this land I love and this age and sign ; 
For the peace that is and the perils pass'd ; 
For the hope that is and the rest at last ! 

ni. 

O heart of the world's heart ! West ! my West ! 
Look up ! look out ! There are fields of kine, 
There are clover-fieltls that are red as wine; 
And a world of kine in the fields take rest. 
And ruminate in the shade of trees 
That are white mth blossoms or brown with bees. 



FROM SEA TO SEA. IO9 

There are emerald seas of corn and cane ; 
There are cotton-fields like a foamy main, 
To the far-off South where the sini was born, 
Where the fair have birth and the loves knew mom. 
There are isles of oak and a harvest plain, 
Where brown men bend to the bending gi'ain ; 
There are temples of God and towns new-born, 
And beautiful homes of beautiful biides ; 
And the hearts of oak and the hands of horn 
Have fashion'd them all and a world besides. . • • 
... A yell like the yell of the Iroquois, 
And out of Eden, — and Illinois ! 

IV. 

A rush of rivers and a brush of trees, 
A breath blown far fi*om the Mexican seas, 
And over the great heart-vein of earth ! 
. . . By the South-Sun-land of the Cherokee, 
By the scalp-lock-lodge of the tall Pawnee, 
And up the La Platte. What a weary dearth 
Of the homes of men ! What a wild deliixht 
Of space ! of room ! What a sense of seas. 
Where the seas are not ! What a salt-like breeze ! 
What dust and taste of quick alkali I 



no FROM SEA TO SEA, 

. . . Then bills ! green, brown, then black like night, 
All fierce and defiant against the sky ! 

By night and by day ! The deeps of the night 
A.re rolling upon us, yet fiercer the flight. 
Lo ! darkness bends down like a mother of grief 
On the limitless plain, and the fall of her hair 
It has mantled a world. The stars are in sheaf. 
Yet onward we plunge like a beast in despair 
Through the thick of the night ; and the thundering 

cars! 
They have crush'd and have broken the beautiful day ; 
Have crumbled it, scatter'd it far away, 
And blown it above to a dust of stars. 



V. 



At last ! at last ! O steed new-born. 
Born strong of the will of the strong New World, 
We shoot to the summit, with the shafts of mom, 
Of the mount of Thunder, where clouds are curl'd, 
Below in a splendor of the sun-clad seas. 
A kiss of welcome on the wai-m west breeze 



FROM SEA TO SEA. Ill 

Blows up with a smell of the fi-agrant pine, 

And a faint, SAveet fragrance from the far-off seas 

Comes in through the gates of the great South Pass 

And thrills the soul like a flow of wine. 

The hare leaps low in the storm-bent grass, 

The mountain ram from his cliff looks back, 

The brown deer hies to the tamarack ; 

And afar to the South with a sound of the mam, 

Roll buffilo herds to the limitless plain. , . . 

On, on, o'er the summit ; and onward again, 
And down like the sea-dove the billow enshrouds, 
And down like the swallow that dips to the sea, 
We dart and we dash and we quiver and we 
Are blowing to heaven w^hite billows of clouds. 

VI. 

Thou " City of Saints ! " O antique men, 
And men of the Desert as the men of old ! 
Stand up ! be glad ! When the truths are told. 
When Time has utter'd his truths and when 
His hand has lifted the thins^s to fame 
From the mass of things to be known no more ; 
When creeds have perish'd and have pass'd away 



112 FROM SEA TO SEA, 

Opinions that lorded their little day, — 

A monument set in the desert sand, 

A pyramid rear'd on an inland shore, 

And their architects, shall have place and name. 

O sea, land-lost ! O desolate land. 
Made brown with grain, and made green with bay ; 
Let mock who will, gainsay it who may, 
No little thing has it been to rear 
A resting-place in the desert here, 
For Fathers bound to a farther land ; 
No little thing with a foe at hand 
That has known no peace, save with these strong men, 
And the peace unbroken vnih the blameless Penn. 

vn. 

The Humboldt desert and the alkaline land, 
And the seas of sage and of arid sand, 
That stretch away till the strain'd eye carries 
The soul where the infinite spaces fill, 
Ai'e far in the rear, and the fair Sierras 
Are under our feet, and the heart beats high. 
And the blood comes quick ; but the lips are still 
With awe and wonder, and all the will 
Is bow'd with a grandeur that frets the sky. 



FROM SEA TO SEA. II3 

A flash of lakes tln'ongh the fragrant trees, 
A song of bh'cls and a sound of bees 
Above in the boughs of the sugar-pine. 
The pick-axe stroke in the placer mine, 
The boom of blasts in the gold-ribb'd hills, 
The grizzly's growl in the gorge below 
Are dying away, and the sound of rills 
From the far-off shimmering crest of snow. 
The laurel green and the ivied oak, 
A yellow stream and a cabin's smoke. 
The brown bent hills and the shepherd's call. 
The hills of vine and of fruits, and all 
The sweets of Eden are here, and we 
Look out and afar to a limitless sea. 

We have lived in age in a half-moon-wane ! 
We have seen a world ! We have chased the sun 
From sea to sea ; but the task is done. 
We here descend to the great white main, — 
To the King of Seas, with the temples bare 
And a tropic breath on the brow and hair. 

We are hush'd with wonder, and all apart 
We stand in silence till the heaving heart 

H 



114 FROM SEA TO SEA, 

Fills full of heaven, and then the knees 
Go down in worship, on the golden sands. 
With faces seaward, and with folded hands 
We gaze on the beautiful Balboa seas. 



BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS, 



BY THE SU:N-D0WN SEAS. 



P A E T I. 
I. 

T IKE fragments of an uncomj^leted world, 

From bleak Alaska, bound in ice and spray, 
To where the peaks of Darien lie curl'd 
In clouds, the broken lands loom bold and gray. 
The seamen nearing San Francisco Bay 
Forget the compass here ; with sturdy hand 
They seize the wheel, look up, then bravely lay 
The ship to shore by rugged peaks that stand 
The stern and proud patrician fathers of the land. 

n. 

They stand white stairs of heaven, — stand a line 
Of lifting, endless, and eternal white. 
They look upon the far and flashing brine, 
Upon the boundless plains, the broken height 
Of Kamiakin's battlements. The flisrht 
Of time is underneath their untopp'd towers. 
They seem to push aside the moon at night, 
To jostle and to loose the stars. The flowers ^ 
Of heaven fall about their brows in shining showers. 



Il8 BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

in. 

They stand a line of lifted snowy isles 
High held above a toss'd and tumbled sea, — 
A sea of wood in wild unmeasured miles: 
White pyramids of Faith where man is free ; 
White monuments of Hope that yet shall be 
The mounts of matchless and immortal song. . . , 
I look fiir down the hollow days ; I see 
The bearded prophets, simple-soul'd and strong. 
That strike the sounding harp and thrill the heeding 
throng. 

IV. 

Serene and satisfied ! supreme ! as lone 
As God, they loom like God's archangels churl'd : 
They look as cold as kings upon a throne : 
The mantling wings of night are crush'd and carl'd 
As feathers curl. The elements are hurl'd 
From off their bosoms, and are bidden go, 
Like evil spirits, to an under-world. 
They stretch from Cariboo to Mexico, 
A line of battle-tents in everlasting snow. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. II9 

V. 

See once Columbia's scenes, then roam no more ; 
No more remains on earth to cultured eyes ; 
The cataract comes down, a broken roar, 
The palisades defy approach, and rise 
Green moss'd and dripping to the clouded skies. 
The canon thunders with its full of foam. 
And calls loud-mouth'd, and all the land defies; 
The mounts make fellowship and dwell at home 
In snowy brotherhood beneath their purpled dome. 

VI. 

The rainbows swim in circles round, and rise 
Against the hanging granite walls till lost 
In drifting dreamy clouds and dappled skies, 
A grand mosaic intertwined and toss'd 
Along the mighty canon, bound and cross'd 
By storms of screaming birds of sea and land ; 
The salmon rush below, bright red and boss'd 
In silver. Tawny, tall, on either hand 
You see the savage spearman nude and silent st.iiid. 

VII. 

Here sweep the wide wild waters cold and white 
And blue in their fir depths; divided now 



I20 BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

By sudden swift canoe as still and light 
As feathers nodding from the painted brow 
That lifts and looks from out the imaged prow. 
Ashore you hear the papoose shout at play ; 
The curl'd smoke comes from underneath the bough 
Of leaning fir : the wife looks far away 
And sees a swift sweet bark divide the dashing spray. 

vin. 

Slow drift adown the river's levell'd deep, 
And look above; lo, columns! woods I the snow! 
The rivers rush upon the brink and leap 
From out the clouds three thousand feet below, 
And land, afoam in tops of firs that grow 
Against your river's rim: they plash, tliey play, 
In clouds, now loud and now subdued and slow, 
A thousand thunder tones; they swing and sway 
In idle winds, long leaning shafts of shining spi-ay. 

IX. 

An Indian summer-time it was, long past, 
"We lay on this Columbia, far below 
The stormy water-falls, and God had cast 
Us heaven's stillness. Dreamily and slow 
We drifted as the licjht bark chose t(j <ro. 

CI? O 



BY THE SUN'DOWN SEAS. 121 

Au Indian girl with ornaments of shell 
Began to sing. . . . The stars may hold such flow 
Of hair, such eyes, but rarely earth. There fell 
A sweet enchantment that possess'd me as a spell : 

X. 

We saw the elk forsake the sable wood, 
Step quick across the rim of shining sand, 
Breast out in troop against tlie flashing flood, 
Then brisket deep with hfted antlers stand, 
And ears alert, look sharp on either hand. 
Then whistle shrill to dam and doubtins: fawn 
To follow, lead with black nose to the land. 
They cross'd, they climb'd the heaving hills, were gone, 
A sturdy charging line with crooked sabres drawn : 

XI. 

Then black swans cross'd us slowly low and still; 
Then other swans, wide-wing'd and white as snow, 
Flew overhead and topp'd the timber'd hill. 
And call'd and sang afar coarse-voiced and slow, 
Till sounds roam'd lost in sombre firs below. . . . 
Then clouds blew in, and all the sky was cast 
With tumbled and tumultuous clouds that grow 



122 BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

Red thunderbolts. ... A flash ! A thunder-blast ! 
The clouds were rent, and lo ! Mount Hood hung white 
and vast. 



xn. 

Once, morn by morn, when snowy mountains flamed 
With sudden shafts of light that shot a flood 
Into the vale like fiery arrows aim'd 
At night from mighty battlements, there stood 
Upon a clifi* high-limn'd against Mount Hood, 
A matchless bull fresh forth from sable wold, 
And standing so seem'd grander 'gainst the wood 
Than winged bull that stood with tips of gold 
Beside the brazen gates of Nineveh of old. 



xni. 

A time he toss'd the dewy turf, and then 

Stretch'd forth his wrinkled neck, and long and loud 

He call'd above the far abodes of men 

Until his breath became a curling cloud 

And wreathed about his neck a misty shroud. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. I23 

He then as sudden as he came pass'd on 
With lifted head, majestic and most proud, 
And lone as night in deepest wood withdrawn 
He roam'd in silent rage until another dawn. 

XIV. 

What drove the hermit from the valley herd, 
What cross of love, what cold neglect of kind, 
Or scorn of unpretending worth had stirr'd 
The stubborn blood and drove him forth to find 
A fellowship in mountain cloud and wind, 
I ofttime wonder'd much ; and ofttime thought 
The beast betray'd a royal monarch's mind, 
To lift above the low herd's common lot. 
And make them hear him still when they had fain 
forgot. 



XV. 

His broad-brimm'd hat push'd back with careless air, 

The proud vaquero sits his steed as free 

As winds that toss his black abundant hair. 

No rover ever swept a lawless sea 

With such a haught and heedless air as he 



124 B}- THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

Who scorns the path, and bounds with swift disdain 
Away : a peon born, yet born to be 
A splendid king ; behold him ride, and reign, 
Tlie only perfect monarch of the mottled plain. 

XVI. 

How brave he takes his herds in branding days, 
On timber'd hills that belt about the j^lain ; 
Pie climbs, he wheels, he shouts through winding ways 
Of hiding ferns and hanging fir ; the rein 
Is loose, the rattling sj^ur drives swift ; the mane 
Blows free ; the bullocks rush in storms before ; 
They turn with lifted heads, they rush again, 
Then sudden jalunge from out the wood, and pour 
A cloud upon the plain with one terrific roar. 

xvn. 

Now sweeps the tawny man on stormy steed. 
His gaudy trappings toss'd about and blown 
Above the limbs as lithe as any reed ; 
The s\rift long lasso twirl'd above is thrown 
From flying hand; the fall, the fearful groan 
Of bullock toil'd and tumbled in the dust — 
The black herds onward swee]), and all disown 



I 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 12$ 

The fallen struggling monarch that has thrust 
His tongue in rage and roll'd his red eyes in disgust. 

• ••■••• 

xvin. 

A morn in Oregon ! The kindled camp 
Upon the mountain brow that broke below 
In steep and grassy stairway to the damp 
And dewy valley, snapp'd and flamed aglow 
With knots of pine. Above, the peaks of snow, 
With under-belts of sable forests, rose 
And flash'd in sudden sunlight. To and fro 
And far below, in lines and winding rows, 
The herders drove their bands, and broke the deep 
repose. 

XIX. 

I heard their shouts like sounding hunter's horn, 
The lowing herds made echoes far away ; 
When lo ! the clouds came driving in with morn 
Toward the sea, as fleeing from the day. 
The valleys fill'd with curly clouds. They lay 
Below, a levell'd sea that reach'd and roll'd 
And broke like breakers of a stormy bay 
Against the grassy shingle fold on fold, 
So like a splendid occnn, suowv white and cold. 



126 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

XX. 

The jDeojDled valley lay a hidden world, 
The shouts were shouts of drowning men tlint died, 
The broken clouds along the border curl'd, 
And bent the grass with weighty freight of tide. 
A savage stood in silence at my side, 
Then sudden threw aback his beaded strouds 
And stretch'd his hand above the scene, and cried, 
As all the land lay dead in snowy shrouds : 
" Behold ! the sun upon a silver sea of clouds." 



XXI. 

Here lifts the land of clouds ! The mantled forms, 
Made white with everlasting snow, look down 
Through mists of many caSons, and the storms 
That stretch from Autumn time until they di-own 
The yellow hem of Spring. The cedars frown. 
Dark«brow'd, through banner'd clouds tb.it stretch 

and stream 
Above the sea from snowy mountain crown. 
The heavens roll, and all things drift or seem 
To drift about and drive like some majestic dream. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 1 27 

XXII. 

In waning Autumn time, when purpled skies 
Begin to haze in indolence below 
The snowy peaks, you see black forms arise 
In rolling thunder banks above, and throw 
Quick barricades about the gleaming snow. 
The strife beo-ins ! The battlinoc seasons stand 
Broad breast to breast. A flash ! Contentions grow 
Terrific. Thunders crash, and lightnings brand 
The battlements. The clouds possess the stormy land. 

XXIII. 

Then clouds blow by, the swans take loftier flight, 
The yellow blooms burst out upon the hill. 
The purple camas comes as in a night. 
Tall si3iked and dripping of the dews that fill 
The misty valley. . . . Sunbeams break and spill 
Tlieir glory till the vale is full of noon. 
The roses belt the streams, no bird is still. . . . 
The stars, as large as lilies, meet the moon 
And sing of summer, born thus sudden full and soon. 



BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 



P A B T 11. 

I. 

\ TALE half told and hardly understood ; 

The talk of bearded men that chanced to meet, 
That lean'd on long quaint rifles in the wood, 
That look'd in fellow faces, spoke discreet 
And low, as half in doubt and in defeat 
Of hope ; a tale it was of lands of gold 
That lay toward the sun. Wild wing'd and fleet 
It spread among the swift Missouri's bold 
Unbridled men, and reach'd to where Ohio roU'd. 

n. 

The long chain'd lines of yoked and patient steers ; 
The long white trains that pointed to the west, 
Beyond the savage west ; the hopes and fears 
Of blunt untutor'd men, who hardly guess'd 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 1 29 

Their course ; the brave and silent women, dress'd 
In homely spun attire, the boys in bands, 
The cheery babes that laugh'd at all, and bless'd 
The doubting hearts with laughing lifted hands, 
Pioclaim'd an exodus for far untraversed lands. 

in. 

The Plains ! The shouting drivers at the wheel ; 
The crash of leather whips ; the crush and roll 
Of wheels ; the groan of yokes and grinding steel 
And iron chain, and lo ! at last the whole 
Vast line, that reach'd as if to touch the goal, 
Began to stretch and stream away and wind 
Toward the west, as if with one control; 
Then hope loom'd fair, and home lay far behind ; 
Before, the boundless plain, and fiercest of their kind. 

IV. 

The way lay wide and green and fresh as seas 
And far away as any reach of wave ; 
The sunny streams went by in belt of trees ; 
And here and there the tassell'd, tawny brave 
Swept by on horse, look'd back, streteh'd forth and 
gave 
6* I 



130 BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS, 

A yell of hell, and then did wheel and rein 
Awhile, and point away, dark-brow'd and grave, 
Into the far and dim and distant plain 
With signs and proj)hecies, and then plunged on again. 

V. 

Some hills at last began to lift and break ; 
Some streams began to fail of wood and tide, 
The sombre plain began betime to take 
A hue of weary brown, and wild and wide 
It stretch'd its naked breast on every side. . . . 
A babe was heard at last to cry for bread 
Amid the deserts ; cattle low'd and died. 
And dying men went by with broken tread. 
And left a long black serpent line of wreck and dead. 



VI. 

Strange hnnger'd birds, black-wing'd and still as 

death, 
And crown'd of red with hooked beaks, blew lew 
And close about, till we could touch their breath — 
Strange unnamed birds, that seem'd to come and go 
In circles now, and now direct and slow. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 131 

Continual, yet never touch the earth ; 
Slim foxes shied and shuttled to and fro 
At times across the dusty weary dearth 
Of life, look'd back, then sank like crickets in a hearth 

yn. 
The dust arose, a long dim line like smoke 
From out a riven earth. The wheels went by, 
The thousand feet in harness and in yoke, 
They tore the ways of ashen alkali, 
And desert winds blew sudden, swift and dry. 
The dust! it sat upon and filPd the train! 
It seem'd to fret and fill the very sky. 
Lo ! dust upon the beasts, the tent, the plain, 
A.nd dust, alas ! on breasts that rose not up again. 

VIII. 

They sat in desolation and in dust 
By dried-up desert streams ; the mother's hands 
Hid all her bended face ; the cattle thrust 
Their tongues and faintly call'd across the lands. 
The babes, that knew not what the way through sands 
Could mean, would ask if it would end to-day. . . . 
The panting wolves slid by, red-eyed, in bands 
Tc streams beyond. The men look'd far away, 
And silent saw that al) a boundless desert lay. 



132 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

IX. 

They rose by night ; they struggled on and on 
As thin and still as ghosts ; then here and there 
Beside the dusty way before the dawn, 
Men silent laid them down in their despair, 
And died. But woman ! Woman, frail as fair ! 
May man have strength to give to you your due ; 
You falter'd not, nor murmur'd anywhere, 
You held your babes, held to your course, and you 
Bore on through burning hell your double burthens 
through. 

X. 

They stood at last, the decimated few. 
Above a land of running streams, and they . . . ? 
They push'd aside the boughs, and peering through 
Beheld afar the cool, refreshing bay ; 
Then some did curse, and some bend hands to pray; 
But some look'd back upon the desert, wide 
And desolate with death, then all the day 
They wept. But one, with nothing left beside 
His dog to love, crept down among the ferns and died. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 133 

XI. 

I stand upon the green Sierra's wall ; 
Toward the east, beyond the yellow grass, 
I see the broken hill-tops lift and fall. 
Then sands that shimmer like a sea of glass. 
In all the shining summer days that pass. 
There lies the nation's great high road of dead. 
Forgotten aye, unnumber'd, and, alas ! 
Unchronicled in deed or death ; instead. 
The stiff aristocrat lifts high a lordly head. 

xn. 
My brave and unremember'd heroes, rest ; 
You fell in silence, silent lie and sleep. 
Sleep on unsung, for this, I say, were best ; 
The world to-day has hardly time to weep ; 
The world to-day will hardly care to keep 
In heart her plain and unpretending brave. 
The desert winds, they whistle by and sweep 
About you ; brown'd and russet grasses wave 
Along a thousand leagues that lie one common grave. 

XIII. 

The proud and careless pass in palace car 
Along the line you blazon'd white with bones ; 



134 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

Pass swift to people, and possess and mar 
Your lands with monuments and letter'd stones 
Unto themselves. Thank God ! this waste disowns 
Their touch. His everlasting hand has drawn 
A shining line around you. Wealth bemoans 
The waste your splendid grave employs. Sleep on, 
No hand shall touch your dust this side of God and 
dawn. 

XIV. 

There came another, far less noble race ; 
They shot across the iron grooves, a host 
Of school'd and cunning men ; they push'd from place 
The simple pioneer, and mock'd, and most 
Of all set strife along the peaceful coast. 
The rude unletter'd settler, bound and coil'd 
In controversy, then before the boast 
Of bold contentious men, confused and foiled, 
Turn'd mute to wilder lands, and left his home despoil'd. 

XV. 

I let them stride across with grasping hands 
And strive for brief possession ; mark and line 
With lifted walls the new divided lands. 
And gather growing herds of lowing kine. 



BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 135 

I could not covet these, could not confine 
My heart to one ; all seem'd to me the same, 
And all below my mountain home, divine 
And beautiful held in another's name, 
As if the herds and lands were mine, subdued and tame. 



XVI. 

I have not been, shall not be, understood ; 
I have not wit, nor will, to well explain, 
But that which men call good I find not good. 
The lands the savage held, shall hold again. 
The gold the savage spurn'd in proud disdain 
For centuries ; go, take them all ; build high 
Your gilded temples; strive and strike and strain 
And crowd and controvert and curse and lie 
In church and state, in town and citadel, and — die 

xyn. 

And who shall grow the nobler from it all? 
The mute and unsung savage loved as true, — 
He felt, as grateful felt, God's blessings fall 
About his lodge and tawny babes as you 
In temples, — Moslem, Christian monk, or Jew 



13^ BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

. . . The sea, the great white, braided, bounding sea, 
Is laughing in your face ; the arching blue 
Remains to God ; the mountains still are free, 
A refuge for the few remaining tribes and me. 



xvin. 

Your cities ! from the first the hand of God 
Has been against them ; sword and flood and flame, 
The earthquake's march, and pestilence, have trod 
To undiscerning dust the very name 
Of antique capitals ; and still the same 
Sad destiny besets the battlefields 
Of Mammon and the harlot's house of shame. 
Lo ! man with monuments and lifted shields 
Against his city's fate. A flame ! his city yields. 



XIX. 

Whose ill had I devised, what evil done, 
That I was bidden to arise and go ? . . , 
I hear the clear Columbian waters run, 
I see the white Pacific flash and flow 
Below the swaying cedar-trees that grow 



[ 



1 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 137 

On peaks pre-eminent ; but never mine 
Again the wooded way on steed of snow, 
The freeman's mountain camp in cloud or shine, 
Or pure companionship of meek-eyed mottled kine. 

XX. 

What wonder that I swore a prophet's oath 
Of after days. ... I push'd the boughs apart, 
I stood, look'd forth, and then look'd back, all loath 
To leave my shadow'd wood. I gather'd heart 
From very fearfulness ; with sudden start 
I plunged in the arena ; stood a wild 
Uncertain thing, and artless all in art. . . . 
The brave approved, the fair lean'd fair and smiled,— 
The lions touch with velvet-touch a timid child. 

XXI. 

But now enough of men. Enough, brief day 
Of tamer life. The court, the castle gate 
That open'd wide along a pleasant way, 
The gracious converse of the kingly great 
Had made another glad and well elate 
With hope. A world of thanks; but I am grown 
Aweary. ... I am not of this estate; 
The poor, the plain brave border-men alone 
Were my first love, and these I will not now disown. 



138 BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

xxn. 
"Who loves the least may oft lament most loud : 
I stand mute-mouth' d uj^on a far gray shore ; 
The soul lifts up, a lone and white-wing'd- cloud, 
And like some sea-bird back and then before 
The storm of seas, it seeks my land once more ; 
And here about the peaceful peaks, as white 
As steps of God, until the fates restore 
Mv feet, shall it abide : the sea at nio-ht 
Has flash'd reflections back from foamy fields of light. 

xxni. 
I know a grassy slope above the sea. 
The utmost limit of the westmost land. 
In savage, gnarl'd, and antique majesty 
The great trees belt about the place, and stand 
In guard, with mailed limb and lifted head 
Against the cold approaching civic pride. 
The foamy brooklets seaward leap ; the bland 
Still air is fresh with touch of wood and tide, 
And peace, eternal peace, possesses wild and wide. 

XXIV. 

Here I return, here I abide and rest ; 

Some flocks and herds shall feed along the stream; 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 1 39 

Some com and climbing vines shall make us blest 
With bread and luscious fruit. . . . The sunny dream 
Of savage men in moccasins that seem 
To come and go in silence, girt in shell, 
Before a sun-clad cabin-door, I deem 
The harbinger of peace. Hope weaves her spell 
Again about the wearied heart, and all is well. 

XXV. 

Here I shall sit in sunlit life's decline 
Beneath my vine and sombre verdant tree. 
Some tawny maids in otlier tongues than mine 
Shall minister. Some memories shall be 
Before me. I shall sit and I shall see, 
That last vast day that dawn shall re-inspire, 
The sun fall down upon the farther sea, 
Fall wearied down to rest, and so retire, 
A splendid sinking isle of lar-oflf fading fire. 



1 



BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS 



Part III. 



'T^HE stormy Isles of story and of song, 

Lo ! yonder lie, white lifting from the sea, 
The head is bow'd a time, then loud and long 
The shouts go up ; men lean tiptoed, to be 
One instant nearer ; turn, catch high and free 
Their little babes above the leaning band, 
And lift and point and bid them look and see 
And laugh with them and shout with lifted hand 
To see at last the land; their sires' sires' darling land. 

II. 

Thou, mother of brave men, of nations ! Thou, 

The white-brow'd Queen of bold white-bearded Sea ! 

Thou wei*t of old even the same as now, 

So strong, so tame yet fierce, so bound yet fi'ee, 

A contradiction and a mystery ; 

Serene, yet passionate, in ways thine owd. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 14I 

Thy white ships wind and weave all time for thee 
The zones of earth, aye thou hast set and sown 

The seas in bed of blossom'd sail, white-spread and 
blown. 

in. 
Above yon inland populace the skies 
Are pink and mellow'd soft in rosy light. 
The crown of earth ! A halo seems to rise 
And hang jDcrpetual above by night. 
And dash by day the heavens, till the sight 
Betrays the city's presence to the wave. , . . 
You hear a hollow sound as of the might 
Of seas; you see the march of fair and brav6 

In millions ; moving, moving, moving toward — a grave 

IV. 

I see above a crowded world a cross 
Of gold. It grows like some great cedar-tree 
Upon a peak in shroud of cloud and moss, 
Made bare and bronzed in far antiquity. 
Stupendous pile ! The grim Yosemite 
Has rent apart his granite wall, and thrown 
Its rugged front before us. . . . Here I see 
The strides of giant men in cryptic stone, 
And turn, and slow descend where sleep the great alone. 



t42 BY THE Sl/X-DOU'N SEAS. 

V. 

Tho miolity oaptains have oomo homo to rest; 
Tho bravo rotunrd to sloop amid tho bravo. 
Tho sontinol that stood Nvitli stooly broast 
Bofove tlio tiory host> of Fraiioo, aTui gave 
Tho battU^-ory tliat roUM, rooodhig- wavo 
On wavo, tho tooiuan tlyuii:- baok and tar, 
Is liero. How still! Yot Knidor now tho grave 
Than ovor-orushing Belgian battk^oar 
Or blue and battle-shaken seas of Trafalixar. 



VI. 

The verger stalks in stitf importanee o'er 
Tiio hollow, deep, and strange responding stones; 
lie stands with littod stat^' unehid before 
Tl\o forms that onee had erush'd or fashion'd thrones, 
And coldly points you out tho cottin'd bones : 
lie stands composed whei*e armies could not stand 
A little thue before. . . . The hand disowns 
The idle sword, and now instead tho grand 
And golden cross makes sign and takes austere com- 
mand. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 1 43 

vn. 
The Abbey broods beside the turbid Thames ; 
Her mother heart is fill'd with memories ; 
Her every niche is stored with storied names; 
They move before me like a mist of seas. 
I am confused, am made abash'd by these 
Most kingly souls, grand, silent, and severe. 
I am not equal, I should sore displease 
The living . . . dead. I dare not enter ; drear 
And stain'd in storms of grander days all things appear 

vni. 
I go ! but shall I not return again 
When Art has taught me gentler, kindlier skill, 
And time has given force and strength of strain ? 
I go ! O ye that dignify and fill 
The chronicles of earth ! I would instil 
Into my soul somehow the atmosphere 
Of sanctity that here usurps the will ; 
But go; I seek the tomb of one — a peer 
Of peers — whose dust a fool refused to cherish here. 

• •••••• 

IX. 

O master, here I bow before a shrine ; 
Before the lordliest dust that ever yet 



144 ^y THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

Moved animate in human form divine. 
Lo ! dust indeed to dust. The mould is set 
Above thee and the ancient walls are wet, 
And drip all day in dank and silent gloom, 
As if the cold gray stones could not forget 
Thy great estate shrunk to this sombre room, 
But learn to weep perpetual tears above thy tomb. 

X. 

Through broken panes I hear the schoolboys shout, 
I see the black-wing'd engines sweep and pass, 
And from the peopled narrow plot without. 
Well grown with brier, moss, and heaving grass, 
I see the Abbey loom an ivied mass, 
Made eloquent of filths, of fates to be. 
Of creeds, and perish'd kings : and still, alas, 
O soldier-child e ! most eloquent of thee, 
Of thy sad life, and all the unseal'd mystery. 

XI. 

Before me lie the oak-crown'd Annesley hills, 
Before me lifts the ancient Annesley Hall 
Above the mossy oaks. ... A picture fills 
With foims of other days. A maiden tall 



B^ THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 1 45 

And fair ; a fiery restless boy, with all 
The force of man ; a steed that frets without ; 
A long thin sword that rusts upon the wall. . . . 
The generations pass. . . . Behold ! about 
The ivied hall the fair-hair'd children sport and shout. 

xn. 

A line of elms along the hill-top run ; 
The diadem of oaks is torn away ; 
Discrown'd the promontory meets the sun, 
And here is set the record of a day, 
Of meaning full and memories ; and gray 
With annals dear to Annesley Hall, it stands, 
A stone, with but this single word to say — 
But " Inkerman ! " and lifts its unseen hands, 
A.nd beckons far to battle-fields of other lands. 

xrn. 

I look into the dread, forbidding tomb ; 

Lo ! darkness — death. The soul on shifting sand 

That belts Eternity gi'opes in the gloom. . . . 

The black-wing'd bird goes forth in search of land, 

But turns no more to reach my reaching hand. . . . 



146 BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 

O land beyond the land ! I lean me o'er 
Thy dust in prayer devout. ... I rise, I stand 
Erect ; the stormy seas are thine no more ; 
A weary white-wing'd dove has touch'd the olive shore. 

XIV. 

A bay wreath woven by the sun-down west 
Hangs damp and stain'd upon the dank gray wall, 
Above thy time-soil'd tomb and tatter'd crest ; 
A bay-wreath gather'd by the seas that call 
To orient Cathay, that break and fall 
On shell-lined shores before Tahiti's breeze. . . . 
A slab, a crest, a wreath, and these are all 
Neglected, tatter'd, torn ; yet only these 
The world bestows for song that rivall'd singing seas. 

XV. 

A bay-wreath wound by one more truly brave 
Than Shastan ; fair as thy eternal fame, 
She sat and wove above the sunset wave, 
And wound and sang thy measures and thy name. 
'Twas wound by one, yet sent with one acclaim 
By many, fair and warm as flowing wiue. 
And purely true, and tall as growing flame, 
That list and lean in moonlight's mellow shine 
To tropic tales of love in other tongues than thine. 



BV THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 147 

XVI. 

I bring this idle reflex of thy task, 
And my few loves, to thy forgotten tomb : 
I leave them here ; and here all pardon ask 
Of thee, and patience ask of singers whom 
Thy majesty hath silenced. I resume 
My staflf, and now my face is to the West ; 
My feet are worn ; the sun is gone, a gloom 
Has mantled Hucknall, and the minstrel's zest 
For fame is broken here, and here he pleads for rest. 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 



Sing songs, and give love in oblations , 
Be glady and forget in a rhyme 
Mutations of time, and mutations 
Of thought, that is Jiercer than time. 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 



'nr^HE sunlight lay in gathered sheaves 

Along the ground, the golden leaves 
Possessed the land and lay in bars 
Above the lifted lawn of green 
Beneath the feet, or fell, as stars 
Fall, slantwise, shimmering and still 
Upon the plain, upon the hill, 
And heaving hill and plain between. 

Some steeds in panoply were seen. 
Strong, martial trained, with manes in air, 
And tasselled reins and mountings rare; 
Some silent people here and there. 
That gathered leaves with listless will, 
Or moved adown the dappled green, 
Or looked away with idle gaze 
Against the gold and purple haze. 
You might have heard red apples fall, 



152 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 

The pheasant on the farther hill, 
A single, lonely, locust trill, 
Or sliding sable cricket call 
From out the grass, but that was all. 

A wanderer of many lands 
Was 1, a weary Ishmaelite 
That knew the sign of lifted hands ; 
Had seen the Crescent-mosques, had seen 
The Druid oaks of Aberdeen ; 
Then crossed the hilly seas, and saw 
The sable pines of Mackinaw, 
And lakes that lifted cold and white. 

I saw the sweet Miami, saw 
The swift Ohio bent and rolled 
Between his gleaming walls of gold, 
The Wabash banks of gray papaw. 
The Mississippi's ash ; at mom 
Of autumn, when the oak is red, 
Saw slanting pyramids of com. 
The level fields of spotted swine. 
The crooked lanes of lowing kine, 
And in the burning bushes saw 
The face of God, with bended head. 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 1 53 

But when I saw her face, I said, 
" Earth has no fruits so fairly red 
As these that swing above my head ; 
No purpled leaf, no poppied land, 
Like this that lies in reach of hand." 

Some maple leaves hung overhead, 
In scarlet hues and many kind ; 
Some danced about upon the sand, 
As dancers dancing hand in hand, 
Begirt in gold, arrayed in red. 
To soft sonsjs whistled in the wind. 

Her image seemed a spirit's then ; 
She filled the lawn whereon she stood, 
And, soft, unto myself I said : 
" O soul, inured to rue and rime, 
To barren toil and bitter bread, 
To biting rime, to bitter rue. 
Earth is not Nazareth ; be good. 
O sacred Indian-summer time 
Of scarlet fruits, of fragrant wood, 
Of purpled clouds, of curling haze — 
O days of golden dreams and days 
Of banished, vanished tawny men, 
7* 



154 /^ THE INDIAN SUMMER. 

Of martial songs and manly deeds — 
Be fair to-day, and bear me true." 
We mounted, turned the sudden steeds 
Toward the yellow hills, and flew. 

My faith ! but she rode fair, and she 
Had scarlet berries in her hair,. 
And on her hands white starry stones. 
The satellites of many thrones 
Fall down before her gracious air 
In that full season. Fair to see 
Are pearly shells, red virgin gold. 
And yellow fruits, and sun-down seas, 
And babes sun-brown ; but all of these, 
And all fair things of sea besides, 
Before the matchless, manifold 
Accomplishments of her who rides 
With autumn summer in her hair. 
And knows her steed and holds her fair 
And stately in her stormy seat. 
They lie like playthings at her feet. 

By heaven ! she was more than fair, 
And more than good, and matchless wise, 
With all the lovelight in her eyes. 
And all the midnight in her hair. 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 1 55 

The blowing hair ! the bannered manes t 
The rustling leaves in whispers blown ! 
The sounding feet made melody, 
And earth was filled and I was glad 
With sweet delight ; ay, even sad 
From pure excess of joy, that fills 
The soul sometimes too eager grown. . .'• 

Through leafy avenues and lanes, 
And lo ! we climbed the yellow hills, 
With russet leaves about the brows 
That reached from over-reachins; trees. 
With purpled briers to the knees 
Of steeds that fretted foamy thews, 
We turned to look a time below 
Beneath the ancient arch of boughs, 
That bent above us as a bow 
Of promise, bound in many hues. 

I reached my hand. I could refuse 
All fruits but this, the touch of her 
At such a time. But lo ! she leaned 
With lifted face and soul, and leant 
As leans devoutest worshipj^er. 
Beyond the branches scarlet screened 



156 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 

And looked above me and beyond, 

So fixed and silent, still and fond. 

She seemed the while she looked to lose 

Her very soul in such intent. 

She looked on other things, but I, 

I saw nor scarlet leaf nor sky ; 

I looked on her, and only her. 

Afar the city lay in smokes 
Of battle, and the maitial strokes 
Of Progi'ess thundered through the land 
And struck against the yellow trees. 
And rolled in hollow echoes on 
Like sounding limits of the seas 
That smite the shelly shores at dawn. 

Beyond, below, on either hand 
There reached a lake in belt of pine, 
A very dream ; a distant dawn 
Asleep in all the autumn shine. 
Some like one of another land 
That I once laid a hand upon, 
And loved too well, and named as mine. 

She sometimes touched with dimpled hand 
The drifting mane with dreamy air, 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 15/ 

She sometimes pushed aback her hair; 
But still she leaned and looked afar, 
As silent as the statues stand, — 
For what? For falling leaf ? For star, 
That runs before the bride of death ? . . . 
The elements were still ; a bi-eath 
Stirred not, the level western sun 
Poured in his arrows every one ; 
Spilled all his wealth of purpled red 
On velvet poplar leaf below, 
On arching chestnut overhead 
In all the hues of heaven's bow. 

She sat the upper hill, and high. 
I spurred my black steed to her side ; 
" The bow of promise, lo ! " I cried. 
And lifted up my eyes to hers 
With all the fervid love that stirs 
The blood of men beneath the sun, 
And reached my hand, as one undone. 
In suppliance to hers above : 
" The bow of promise ! give me love I 
I reach a hand, I rise or fall. 
Henceforth from this : put forth a hand 
From your high place and let me stand — 



158 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER 

Stand soul and body, white and tall ! 
Why, I would live for you, would die 
To-morrow, but to live to-day. 
Give me but love, and let me live 
To die before you. I can pray 
To only you, because I know, 
If you but give what I bestow. 
That God has nothing left to give." 

Christ ! still her stately head was raised. 
And still she silent sat and gazed 
Beyond the trees, beyond the town, 
To where the dimpled waters slept. 
Nor splendid eyes once bended down 
To eyes that lifted up and wept. 

She spake not, nor subdued her head 
To note a hand or heed a word ; 
And then I questioned if she heard 
My life-tale on that leafy hill, 
Or any fervid word I said. 
And spoke with bold, vehement will. 

She moved, and from her bridled hand ■ 

She sudden drew the dainty glove, 



i 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 1 59 

Then gazed again upon the land. 
The dimpled hand, a snowy dove, 
Alit, and moved along the mane 
Of glossy skeins; then, overbold, 
It fell across the mane, and lay 
Before my eyes a sweet bouquet 
Of clustered kisses, white as snow. 
I should have seized it reaching so, 
But something bade me back, — a ban ; 
Around the third fair finger ran 
A shining, hateful hoop of gold. 

Ay, then I turned, I looked away, 
I sudden felt forlorn and chill ; 
C whistled, like, for want to say, 
And then I said, with bended head, 
" Another's ship from other shores. 
With richer freight, with fairer stores, 
Shall come to her some day instead ; " 
Then turned about, — and all was still. 

Yea, you had chafed at this, and cried, 
And laughed with bloodless lips, and said 
Some bitter things to sate your pride, 
And tossed aloft a loj'dly head, 



l6o IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 

And acted well some wilful lie, 
And, most like, cursed yourself — but I 
Well, you be crucified, and you 
Be broken up with lances through 
The soul, then you may turn to find 
Some ladder-rounds in keenest rods, 
Some solace in the bitter rind. 
Some favor with the gods irate — 
The everlasting angered gods — 
And ask not overmuch of fate. 



I was not born, was never blessed. 
With cunning ways, nor wit, nor skill 
In woman's ways, nor words of love, 
Nor fashioned suppliance of will. 
A very clown, I think, had guessed 
How out of place and plain I seemed ; 
I, I, the idol-worshipper. 
Who saw nor maple-leaves nor sky 
But took some touch and hue of her. 
Then, after all, what right had I 
To lift my eyes to eyes that beamed 
So far beyond, so far above ? 



IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, l6l 

I am a pagan, heathen, lo ! 
A savage man, of savage lands ; 
Too quick to love, too slow to know 
The sign that tame love understands. 
Or cold approaches pride demands. 



Some heedless hoofs went sounding down 
The broken way. The woods were bi'own, 
And homely now; some idle talk 
Of folk and town ; a broken walk; 
But sounding feet made song no more 
For me along that leafy shore. 

The sun caught up his gathered sheaves ; 
A squirrel caught a nut, and ran ; 
A rabbit rustled in the leaves; 
A whirling bat, black-winged and tan, 
Blew swift between us ; sullen night 
Fell down upon us ; mottled kine, 
With lifted heads, went lowing down 
The rocky ridge toward the town, 
And all the woods grew dark as wine. 



I 



1 



OLIVE LEAVES. 



O hoy at peace upon the Delaware ! 

brother mine, that fell in battle front 
Of life, so braver, nobler far than 7, 
The wanderer who vexed all gentleness, 
Receive this song ; I have but this to give. 

1 may not rear the rich man^s ghostly stone 
But you, through all my follies loving still 
And trusting me . . . nay, I shall notforgex 



A failing hand in mine, and fading eyes 

That looked in mine as from another lana, 

You said: " Some gentler things ; a song Jo, Peace, 

'Mid all your songs for men one song for God.'* 

And then the dark-brow^d mother. Death, bent down 

Her face to yours, and you were burn to Him. 



OLIVE LEAVES. 



AT BETHLEHEM. 

" In the desert a fountain is springing, 
In the wild waste there still is a tree." 

" Though the many lights dwindle to one light, 
There is help if the heavens have one." 

" Change lays not her hand upon truth." 

TT TITH incense and myrrh and sweet spices, 

Frankincense and sacredest oil 
In ivory, chased with devices 

Cut quaint and in serpentine coil ; 
Heads bared, and held down to the bosom ; 

Brows massive with wisdom and bronzed ; 
Beards white as the white may in blossom, 

And borne to the breast and beyond, — 
Came the Wise of the East, bending lowly 

On staffs, with their garments girt round 
With girdles of hair, to the Holy 

Child Christ, in their sandals. The sound 



1 66 OLIVE LEAVES. 

Of soDg and thanksgiving ascended -- 
Deep night ! Yet some shepherds afar 

Heard a wail with the worshipping blended, 
And they then knew the sign of the star. 



m PALESTINE. 



O 



JEBUS ! thou mother of prophets, 
Of soldiers and heroes of song ; 
Let the crescent oppress thee and scoff its 
Blind will, let the days do thee wrong ; 

But to me thou art sacred and splendid. 
And to me thou art matchless and fair, 

As the tawny sweet twilight, with blended 
Sunlight and red stars in her hair. 

Thy fair ships once came from sweet Cyprus, 
And fair ships drew in from Cyrene, 

With fruits and rich robes and sweet spices 
For thee and thine eminent queen ; 

And camels came in with the traces 
Of white desert dust in their hair 

As they kneel'd in the loud market-places, 
And Arabs with lances were there. 



l68 OLIVE LEAVES. 

'Tis past, and the Bedouin pillows 
His head where thy battlements fall, 

And thy temples flash gold to the billows, 
Never more over turreted wall. 

'Tis past, and the green velvet mosses 
Have gi'own by the sea, and now sore 

Does the far billow mourn for his losses 
Of lifted white ships to the shore. 

Let the crescent uprise, let it flash on 
Thy dust in the garden of death. 

Thy chasten'd and passionless passion 
Sunk down to the sound of a breath ; 

You lived like a king on a throne and 
Ton died like a queen of the south ; 

For you lifted the cup with your own hand 
To your proud and your passionate mouth ; 

Like a splendid swift serpent surrounded 
With fire and sword, in your side 

You struck your hot fangs and confounded 
Your foes ; you struck deep, and so — died. 






I 



BEYOND JORDAN. 



A ND they came to him, mothers of Judah, 
Dark-eyed and in splendor of hair, 
Bearing down over shoulders of beauty, 
And bosoms half hidden, half bare ; 

And they brought him their babes and besought 
him 

Half kneeling, with suppliant air, 
To bless the brown cherubs they brought him, 

With holy hands laid in their hair. 

Then reaching his hands he said, lowly, 
" Of such is My Kingdom ; " and then 

Took the brown Httle babes in the holy 
White hands of the Saviour of men ; 

Held them close to his heart and caress'd them, 
Put his face down to theii's as in prayer, 

Put their hands to his neck, and so bless'd them 
With baby hands hid in his hair. 
8 



FAITH. 



'THHERE were whimsical turns of the waters, 
There were rhythmical talks of the sea, — 
There were gathered the darkest-eyed daughters 
Of men, by the dark Galilee. 

A blowing full sail, and a parting 

From multitudes, living in him, 
A trembling of lips, and tears starting 

From eyes that look'd downward and dim. 

A mantle of night and a marching 

Of storms, and a sounding of seas. 
Of furrows of foam and of arching 

Black billows ; a bending of knees ; 
The rising of Christ — an entreating — 

Hands reach'd to the seas as he saith, 
" Have Faith ! " And lo ! still are repeating 

All seas, "Have Faith! Have Faith! Have 
Faith!" 



1 



HOPE. 



T T THAT song is well sung not of son*ow ? 

What triumph well won without pain ? 
What vii'tue shall be, and not borrow 
Bright lustre from many a stain ? 

WTiat birth has there been without travail ? 

What battle well won without blood ? 
What good shall earth see without evil 

Ingarner'd as chaff with the good ? 

Lo ! the Cross set in rocks by the Roman, 
And nourish'd by blood of the Lamb, 

And water'd by tears of the woman. 
Has flourish'd, has spread like a palm ; 

Has spread in the fi'osts, and far regions 
Of snows in the North, and South sands, 

Where never the tramp of his legions 

Was heard, or has rcach'd forth his red hands. 



173 OLIVE LEAVES, 

Be thankful : the price and the payment, 
The birth, the privations and scorn, 

The cross, and the parting of raiment. 
Are finish'd. The star brought us morn : 

Look starward ; stand far and unearth y, 
Free-soul'd as a banner unfurl'd. 

Be worthy, O brother, be worthy ! 
For a God was the price of the world. 



CHARITY. 



T TER hands were clasped downward and doulled, 

Her head was held down and depressed, 
Her bosom, like white billows troubled, 
Fell fitful and rose in unrest ; 

Her robes were all dust, and disorder'd 

Her glory of hair, and her brow, 
Her face, that had lifted and lorded, 

Fell pallid and passionless now. 

She heard not accusers that brought her 

In mockery hurried to Him, 
Nor heeded, nor said, nor besought her 

With eyes lifted doubtful and dim. 

All crush'd and stone-cast in behavior. 

She stood as a marble would stand. 
Then the Saviour bent down, and the Saviour 

In silence wrote on in the sand. 



174 OLIVE LEAVES. 

What wrote He ? How fondly one lingere • 
And questions, what holy command 

Fell down from the beautiful fingers 
Of Jesus, like gems in the sand. 

O better the Scian uncherish'd 

Had died ere a note or device 
Of battle was fashion'd, than perish'd 

This only line written by Christ. 

He arose and he look'd on the daughter 

Of Eve, like a delicate flower. 
And he heard the revilers that brought her — 

Men stormy, and strong as a tower ; 

And he said, " She has sinn'd ; let the blameless 
Come forward and cast the first stone ! " 

But they, they fled shamed and yet shameless , 
And she, she stood white and alone. 

Who now shall accuse and arraign us ? 

What man shall condemn and disown ? 
Since Christ has said only the stainless 

Shall cast at his fellows a stone. 



OLIVE LEAVES. 175 

For what man can bare us liis bosom, 
And touch with his forefinger there, 

And say, 'Tis as snow, as a blossom ? 
Beware of the stainless, beware! 

O woman, born first to believe us ; 

Tea, also born first to forget ; 
Born first to betray and deceive us, 

Yet first to repent and regret ! 

O first then in all that is human, 

Lo ! first where the Nazarene trod, 
O woman ! O beautiful woman ! 

Be then first in the kingdom of God! 



THE LAST SUPPER. 



*' And when they had siMg a hymn they went out 
into the Mount of OUves/' 



"^T THAT song sang the twelve with the Saviour 

When finish'd the sacrament wine ? 
Were they bow'd and subdued in behavior, 
Or bold as made bold with a sign ? 

Were the hairy breasts strong and defiant ? 

Were the naked arms brawny and strong ? 
Were the bearded lips lifted reliant, 

Thrust forth and full sturdy with song ! 

What sang they ? What sweet song of Zion 
With Christ in their midst like a crown ? 

While here sat Saint Peter, the lion ; 
And there like a lamb, with head down. 



OLIVE LEAVES. 1/7 

Sat Saint John, with his silken and raven 

Rich hair on his shoulders, and eyes 
Lifting up to the faces unshaven 

Like a sensitive child's in surprise. 

Was the song as strong fishermen swinging 

Their nets full of hoi3e to the sea ? 
Or low, like the ripple- wave, singing 

Sea-songs on their loved Galilee ? 

Were they sad with foreshadow of sorrows, 
Like the birds that sing low when the breeze 

Is tip-toe with a tale of to-morrows, — 
Of earthquakes and sinking of seas ? 

Ah ! soft was their sonsj as the waves are 

That fall in low musical moans ; 
And sad I should say as the winds are 

That blow by the white gravestones. 



8* 



A SONG FOR PEACE. 



A S a tale that is told, as a vision, 
Forgive and forget ; for I say 
That the true shall endure the derision 
Of the false till the full of the day ; 

n. 

Ay, forgive as you would be forgiven ; 

Ay, forget, lest the ill you have done 
Be remember'd against you in heaven 

And all the days under the sun. 

in. 

For who shall have bread without labor? 

And who shall have rest without price ? 
And who shall hold war with his neighbor 

With promise of peace with the Christ ? 



OLIVE LEAVES. I/Q 



IV. 

The years may lay hand on fair heaven ; 

May place and displace the red stars ; 
May stain them, as blood-stains are driven 

At sunset in beautiful bars ; 

V. 

May shroud them in black till they fret ua 
As clouds with their showers of tears ; 

May grind us to dust and forget us, 
May the years, O, the pitiless years ! 

VI. 

The precepts of Christ are beyond them ; 

The truths by the Nazarene taught, 
With the tramp of the ages upon them, 

They endure as though ages were nought ; 

vn. 

The deserts may drink up the fountains, 
The forests give place to the plain. 

The main may give place to the mountains, 
The mountains return to the main ; 



l8o OLIVE LEAVES, 

vin. 

Mutations of worlds and mutations 
Of suns may take place, but the reign 

Of Time, and the toils and vexations 
Bequeath them, no, never a stain. 

IX. 

Go forth to the fields as one sowing, 
Sing songs and be glad as you go, 

There are seeds that take root without showing, 
And bear some fruit whether or iio. 



And the sun shall shine sooner or later, 

Though the midnight breaks ground on the morn, 

Then appeal you to Christ, the Creator, 
And to gray-bearded Time, His first-born. 



ii 



• I 



* 



FALLEN LEAVES. 



Some fugitive lines that allure us no more, 
Some fragments that fell to the^ea out of time ; 
Unfinished and guiltless of thought as of rhijme, 
Thrown now on the world like waifs on the shore 



FALLEN LEAVES. 



PALM LEAVES. 

'T^HATCH of palm and a patch of clover, 

Breath of balm in a field of brown, 
The clouds blew up and the birds flew over, 
And I look'd upward : but who look'd down ? 

Who was true in the test that tried us ? 

Who was it mock'd? Who now may mourn 
The loss of a love that a cross denied us, 

With folded hands and a heart forlorn ? 

God forgive when the fair forget us. 

The worth of a smile, the weight of a tear, 
Why, who can measure ? The fates beset us. 

We laugh a moment ; we mourn a year. 



THOMAS OF IIGRE. 



TT^ING of Tigre, comi*ade true ! 

Where in all thine isles art thou? 
Sailing on Fonseca blue ? 
Nearing Aniapala now ? 
King of Tigre, where art thou ? 

Battling for Antilles' queen ? 
Sabre hilt, or olive bough ? 
Crown of dust, or laurel green ? 
Roving love, or marriage vow ? 
King and comrade, where art thou ? 

Sailing on Pacific seas ? 
Pitching tent in Pimo now ? 
Underneath magnolia trees? 
Thatch of palm, or cedar bough? 
Soldier-singer, where art thou ? 



FALLEN LEAVES. 1 85 

Coasting on the Oregon ? 
Saddle, bow, or birchen prow ? 
Round the Isles of Amazon ? 
Pampas, plain, or mountain brow? 
Prince of rovers, where art thou? 

Answer me from out the West. 
I am weary, stricken now ; 
Thou art strong and I would rest : 
Reach a hand with lifted brow, — 
King of Tigre, where art thou ? 



IN YOSEMITE VALLEY. 



S' 



OUND! sound! sound! 
O colossal walls, as crown'd 
In one eternal thunder ! 

Sound! sound! sound! 
O ye oceans overhead, 
While we walk, subdued in wonder, 
In the ferns and grasses, under 
And beside the swift Merced 1 

Fret! fret! fret! 
Streaming, sounding banners, set 
On the giant granite castles 
In the clouds and in the snow ! 
But the foe he comes not yet, — 
We are loyal, valiant vassals. 
And we touch the trailing tassels, 
Of the banners far below. 

Surge ! surge ! surge ! 
From the white Sierra's verge, 



FALLEN LEAVES. 1 87 

To the very valley blossom. 

Surge! surge! surge! 
Yet the song-bird builds a home, 
And the mossy branches cross them, 
And the tasselled tree-tops toss them, 
In the clouds of falling: foam. 

Sweep! sweep! sweep! 
O ye heaven-bom and deep, 
In one dread, unbroken chorus ! 
Wc may wonder or may weep, — 
We may wait on God before us ; 
We may shout or lift a hand, — 
We may bow down and deplore us, 
But may never understand. 

Beat! beat! beat! 
We advance, but would retreat 
From this restless, broken breast 
Of the earth in a convulsion. 
We would rest, but dare not rest, 
For the angel of expulsion 
From this Paradise below 
Waves us onward and ... we go. 



DEAD IN THE SIERRAS. 



TTIS footprints have failed us, 

Where hemes are red, 
And madronos are rankest. 
The hunter is dead ! 

The grizzly may pass 
By his half-open door; 

May pass and repass 
On his path, as of yore ; 

The panther may crouch 
In the leaves on his limb ; 

May scream and may scream, — 
It is nothing to him. 

Prone, bearded, and breasted 
Like columns of stone ; 

And tall as a pine — 
As a pine overthrown 1 



FALLEN LEA VES. 1 89 

His camp-fires gone, 

What else can be done 
Than let him sleep on 

Till the Hght of the sun ? 

Ay, tombless ! what of it ? 

Marble is dust. 
Cold and repellent; 

And iron is rust. 



IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 



"TT THERE the cocoa and cactus are neighbors, 

Where the fig and the fir-tree are one ; 

Where the brave corn is lifting bent sabres 

And flashing them far in the sun ; 

I. 
Where the maidens blush red in their tresses 

Of night, and retreat to advance, 

And the dark, sweeping eyelash expresses 

Deep passion, half hush'd in a trance ; 

Where the fig is in leaf, where the blossom 

Of orange is fragrant as fair, — 
Santa Barbara's balm in the bosom. 

Her sunny, soft winds in the hair ; 

Where the grape is most luscious, where laden 
Long branches bend double with gold ; 

Los Angelos leans like a maiden. 

Red, blushing, half shy, and half bold. 



FALLEN LEAVES, I91 

Where passion was born, and where poets 

Are deeper in silence than song, 
A love knows a love, and may know its 

Reward, yet may never know wrong. 

Where passion was born and where blushes 
Gave birth to my songs of the South, 

And a song is a love-tale, and rushes, 
Unchid, through the red of the mouth ; 

Where an Adam in Eden reposes, 

I repose, I am glad, and take wine 
In the clambering, redolent roses, 

And under my fig and my vine. 



WHO SHALL SAY? 



A SINKING sun, a sky of red, 
In bars and banners overhead, 
And blown apart like curtains drawn ; 
Afar a-sea a blowing sail 
That shall go down before the dawn ; 
And they are passion-toss'd and pale 
The two that stand and look alone 
And silent, as two shafts of stone 
Set head and foot above the dead. 

They watch the ship, the weary sun, 
The banner'd streamers every one. 
Till darkness hides them in her hair. 
The winds come in as cold as death, 
And not a palm above the pair 
To lift a lance or break a breath. 



FALLEN LEA VES, ipj 

The hollow of the ocean fills 

Like sounding hollow halls of stone, 

And not a banner streams above ; 

The sea is set in snowy hills. 

The ship is lost. The winds are blown 

Unheeded now ; yet who shall say : 

" We had been wiser so than they 

Who wept and watch'd the parting sail 

In silence ; mute with soitow, pale 

With weeping for departed love " ? 



A LOVE -SONG. 



TF earth is an oyster, love is the pearl, 

As pure as pure caresses ; 
Then loosen the gold of your hair, my girl, 
And hide my pear] in your tresses. 

1^0, coral to coral and pearl to pearl. 
And a cloud of curls above me, 

O bury me deep, my beautiful girl, 
And then confess you love me. 

The world goes ovei my beautiful girl 
In glitter and gold and odor of roses, 

In eddies of splendor, in oceans of pearl. 
But here the heaven reposes. . . . 

The world it is wide ; men go their ways, 
But love it is wise, and of all the hours. 

And of all the beautiful sun-born days. 
It sips their sweets as the bees sip flowers. 



DOWN INTO THE DUST. 



TS it worth while that we jostle a brothei 

Bearing his load on the rough road of life ? 
Is it worth while that we jeer at each other 

In blackness of heart ? — that we war to the knife ? 

God pity us all in our pitiful strife. 

God pity us all as we jostle each other; 

God pardon us all for the triumphs we feel 
When a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather, 

Pierced to the heart : words are keener than steel, 

And mightier far for woe or for weal. 

Were it not well, in this brief little journey 
On over the isthmus, down into the tide, 

"We give him a fish instead of a serpent, 
Ere folding the hands to be and abide 
Forever and aye in dust at his side ? 



196 FALLEN LEAVES. 

Look at the roses saluting each other ; 

Look at the herds all at peace on the plain -^ 
Man, and man only, makes war on his brother, 

And laughs in his heart at his j^eril and pain ; 

Shamed by the beasts that go down on the plain. 

Is it worth while that we battle to humble 

Some poor fellow-soldier down into the dust ? | 

God pity us all ! Time eftsoon will tumble 
All of us together like leaves in a gust, 

Humbled indeed down into the dust. 

r 



IN SAN FRANCISCO. 



T O ! here sit we mid the sun-down seas 

And the white sierras. The swift, sweet breeze 

Is about us here ; and a sky so fair 
Is bending above in its azaline hue, 
That you gaze and you gaze in delight, and you 

See God and the portals of heaven there. 

Yea, here sit we where the white ships ride 
In the morn, made glad and forgetful of night, 

The white and the brown men side by side 

In search of the truth, and betrothed to the right; 

For these are the idols, and only these. 

Of men that abide by the sun-down seas. 

The brown brave hand of the harvester, 
The delicate hand of the prince untried, 

The rough hard hand of the carpenter, . 
They are all upheld with an equal pride ; 

And the prize it is his to be crown'd or blest, 

Prince or peon, who bears him best. 



198 FALLEN LEAVES. 

Yea, here sit we by the golden gate, 

Nor demanding much, but inviting you all, 

Nor publishing loud, but daring to wait. 

And great in much that the days deem small ; 

And the gate it is God's, to Cathay, Japan, — > 

And who shall shut it in the face of man ? 



r 



SHADOWS OF SHASTA. 



TN the place where the grizzly reposes, 

Under peaks where a right is a wrong, 
I have memories richer than roses, 

Sweet echoes more sweet than a song ; 

Sounds sweet as the voice of a singer 
Made sacred with sorrows unsaid, 

And a love that implores me to linger 
For the love of dead days and their dead. 

But I turn, throwing kisses, returning 
To strife and to turbulent men. 

As to learn to be wise, as unlearning 
All things that were manliest then. 



AT SEA. 



\T 7E part as ships on a pathless main, 

Gayly enough, for the sense of pain 

Is asleep at first : but ghosts will arise 

When we would repose, and the forms will come 
And walk when we walk, and will not be dumb, 

Jfor yet forget with their wakeful eyes. 

When we most need rest, and the perfect sleep, 
Some hand will reach from the dark, and keep 

The curtains drawn and the pillows toss'd 
Like a tide of foam ; and one will say 
At night, — O Heaven, that it were day ! 
And one by night through the misty tears 
Will say, — O Heaven, the days are years. 

And I would to Heaven that the waves were cross'd. 



A MEMORY OF SANTA BARBARA. 



'\7'EA, Santa Barbara is fair ; 

A sunny clime and sweet to tonch, 
For tamer men of gentler mien, 
But as for me — another scene. 
A land below the Alps I know, 
Set well with grapes and girt with much 
Of woodland beauty ; I shall share 
My rides by night below the light 
Of Manua Loa, ride below 
The steep and starry Hebron height ; 
Shall lift my hands in many lands, 
See South Sea palm, see Northland fir, 
See white-wing'd swans, see red-bill'd doves 
See many lands and many loves, 
But never more the face of her. 

And what her name or where the place 
Of her who makes my Mecca's prayer, 
Concerns you not j not any trace 
9* 



202 FALLEN LEAVES, 

Of entrance to my temple's shrine 
Remains. The memory is mine, 
And none shall pass the portals there. 

The present ! take it, hold it thine, 
But that one hour out from all 
The years that are, or yet shall fall, 
I pluck it out, I name it mine. 
And whistle by the rest, and laugh 
To see it blown about as chaff; 
That hour bound in sunny sheaves. 
With tassell'd shocks of golden shine. 
That hour, wound in scarlet leaves, 
Is mine. I stretch a hand and swear 
An oath that breaks into a prayer ; 
By heaven, it is wholly mine ! 

I see the gold and j^ui-ple gleam 
Of autumn leaves, a reach of seas, 
A silent rider like a dream 

Moves by, a mist of mysteries, i 

And these are mine, and only these, * 

Yet they be more in my esteem, \ 

Than silver'd sails on coral'd seas. 



FALLEN LEAVES, 203 

Let red-leaf d boughs sweet fruits bestow, 
Let fame of foreign lands be mine, 
Let blame of faithless men befall ; 
It matters nothing ; over ail, 
One hour arches like a bow 
Of promise blent in many hues. 
That tide nor time shall bid decline; 
Or storms of all the years reiuse. 



SUMMER FROSTS. 



■ppROSTS of an hour ! Fruits of a season ! 
Who foresees them ? .Slain in a day, 
The loves of a histrura. Who shall say 
The heart has sense or the soul has reason ? 

. . . One not knowing and one not caring. 
. . . Leaves in then- pathway. Let them part ; 

She with the gifts of a gracious bearing, 
He with the pangs of a passionate heart. 



SLEEP THAT WAS NOT SLEEP. 



"D ACK there, madam ! Mark you, ihove ! %. 

I lie crouch'd against the wall, 
And I dare not lift a finscer, 
Dare not lift my eyes or call. 
While you hesitate and linger, 
Leering through your tangled hair ; 
Drop the curtains ! Back, I say ! 
Lift aside your tangled hair 
Overhanging coffin'd clay, 
Resurrected for a day, 
Cold and wet as cast-away. 

• • • • » 

... It was hard, but what was better 
For a man so strangely born 
Underneath the stars or sun, 
Than the savage race I run 
Through the midnight to the mom, 
Spite of fate or prison fetter ? 



206 FALLEN LEAVES. 

Through the darkness to the dawn, 
What beneath the sun was better? 
Then I tum'd, and . . . you were gone. 
. . . Glory had a price ; I paid her! 
Truth was doubtful ; I betray'd her I 
Ton obey'd her to the letter. 
And what profits ? nothing, save 
That I have slain the days full well, — 

That you . . . are dead and in your grave ; 

r 

That I . . . am living and in hell. 

• ••••• 

Tea ! before- time you beset me, 
Laugh'd and vow'd to not forget me, 
Leer'd and mock'd with all your might 
"When the fever held its riot 
And the doctors bade be quiet. 
Christ ! you came to my bedside 
In the middle of the night, 
Witn your two hands on your heart, — 
And you press'd on my bedside, 
And so press'd upon your heart 
That the blood, all thick and blackenM, 
When your bony fingers slacken' d. 
Oozed between them to the floor, — 
Oh, that ghostly, gory floor ! 



FALLEN LEAVER. 207 

And your mantle it was moulded, 
And streak'd yellow where it folded, 
Then your heavy, slimy hair. 
On your bosom blue and bare, 
Which you did not try to hide ! 
That you know was nothing fair, 
As you press'd on my bedside ! 
Then your eyes had such a glare, 
And the smell of death was there. 
And the spirits that were with you 
Whistled through the mossy door. 
And they danced upon my bosom, 
And they tangled up my hair, 
And made crosses on the floor. 
• • • • • 

It was not my fault, remember, 

All this life of black disasters, 
All this life of dark December, 

All this heart-sickness and sadness. 
Though we both did have our masters, 

Yours was Love and mine Ambition, 
Mine is driving me to madness, 

Tours, it drove you to perdition. 



208 FALLEN LEAVES, 

Yes, some time, if you will have it, 
When this hot brain is less rabid, 
"When our masters both are sleeping, 
When the storm the stars is keeping, 
Leave that yellow moulded mantle, 
That dull, sullen, frozen stare. 
And the cold death in your hair. 
And I will ho more upbraid you ; 
Leave the darkness where they laid you. 
Leave the dampness you inhabit. 

I will meet you just one minute 
^j the oak-tree, you remember. 
With the grape-vine tangled in it ; 
I will tell you one sweet story. 
With sweet balm and healing in it * 
You will sigh Memento raori^ — 
But remember, now remember, 
I remain there but one minute 



*^bIERKAS ADIOS." 



*T T 7ITH the buckler and sword into battle 

I moved, I was matchless and strong ; 
I. stood m the rush and the rattle 

Of shot, and the spirit of song 
Was upon me ; and youthful and splendid 

My armor flashed far in the sun 
As I sang of my land. It is ended, 

And all has been done, and undone. 

I descend with my dead in the trendies, 

To-night I bend down on the plain 
In the dark, and a memory wrenches 

The soul; I turn up to the rain 
The cold and the beautiful faces. 

Ay, faces forbidden for years, 
Turn'd up to my fice with the traces 

Of blood to the white rain of tears. 

N 



2IO FALLEN LEAVES. 

Count backward the years on your fingers, 

While forward lides yonder white moon, 
Till the soul turns aside, and it lingers 

By a grave that was bora of 3 /'ine ; 
By the grave of a soul, where the grasses 

Are tangled as witch-Avoven hair ; 
Where footprints are not, and where passes 

Not any thing known anywhere ; 

By a grave Avithout tombstone or token, 

At a tomb where not fern leaf or fir, 
Koot or branch, was once bended or broken. 

To bestow there the body of her ; 
For it lives, and the soul perish'd only, 

And alone in that land, with these hands, 
Did I lay the dead soul, and all lonely 

Does it lie to this day in the sands. 

Lo ! a wild little maiden with tresses 
Of gold on the wind of the hills : 

Ay, a wise little maiden that guesses 
Some good in the crudest ills ; 

And a babe with its baby-fists doubled. 
And thrust to my beard, and within, 



FALLEN LEAVES. 211 

As he laughs like a fountain half-troubled, 
TVTien my finger chucks under his chin. 

Should the dead not decay, when the culture 

Of fields be resumed in the May ? 
Lo ! the days are dark-wing'd as the vulture ! 

Let them swoop, then, and bear them away: 
By the walks let me cherish red flowers. 

By the wall teach one tendril to run ; 
Lest I wake, and I w^atch all the hours 

I shall ever see under the sun. 

It is well, may be so, to bear losses, 

And to bend and bow down to the rod ; 
If the scarlet red bars and the crosses 

Be but rounds up the ladder to God. 
But this mocking of men ! Ah, that enters 

The marrow ! the murmurs that swell 
To reproach for my song-love, that centres, 

Vast land, upon thee, are not welL 

And I go, thanking God in my going. 
That an ocean flows stormy and deep, 

And yet gentler to me is its flowing 
Than the storm that forbids me to sleep. 



212 FALLEN LEAVES, 

And I go, thanking God, with hands lifted 
That a land lies beyond where the fre^ 

And the gentle of heart and the gifted 
Of soul have a home in the sea. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



1. 



MAN in middle Aridzone 
Stood by the desert's edge alone, 
And long he look'd, and iean'd. 
He peer'd, 
Above his twiil'd and twisted beard, 
Beneath his black and slouchy hat . . . 
Nay, nay, the tale is not of that. 




A skin-clad trapper, toe-a-tip, 
Stood on a mountain top, and he 
Look'd long and still and eagerly. 
" It looks so like some lonesome ship 



14 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

That sails this ghostly lonely sea, — 
This-dried-up desert sea," said he, 
" These tawny sands of Arazit "... 
Avaunt! the tale is not of it. 

A chief from out the desert's rim 
Kode swift as twilight swallows swim, 
Or eagle blown from eyrie nest. 
His trim-hmb'd steed was black as night, 
His long black hair had blossom'd white. 
With feathers from the koko's crest ; 
His iron face was flush'd and red, 
His eyes flash'd fire as he fled, 
For he had seen unsightly things ; 
Had felt the flapping of their wings. 

A wild and wiry man was he. 

This tawny chief of Shoshonee ; 
And O his supple steed was fleet ! 
About his breast flapp'd panther skins, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

About his eager flying feet 
Flapp'd beaded, braided moccasins : 
He rode as rides the hurricane ; 
He seem'd to swallow up the plain ; 
He rode as never man did ride, 
He rode, for ghosts rode at his side, 
And on his right a grizzled grhn — 
No, no, this tale is not of him. 

An Indian warrior lost his way 
While prowhng on this desert's edge 
In fragrant sage and prickly hedge, 
When suddenly he saw a sight. 
And turn'd his steed in eager flight. 
He rode right through the edge of day, 
He rode into the rolling night. 

He lean'd, he reach'd an eager face. 
His black wolf skin flapp'd out and in, 
And tiger claws on tiger skin 



1 6 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT ' 

Held seat and saddle to its place ; 

But that gray ghost that clutch'd thereat . . . 

Arrete ! the tale is not of that. 

A chieftain touch'd the desert's rim 
One autumn eve : he rode alone 
And still as moon-made shadows swim. 
He stopp'd, he stood as still as stone, 
He lean'd, he look'd, there glisten 'd bright 
From out the yellow yielding sand 
A golden cup with jewell'd rim. 
He lean'd him low, he reach'd a hand, 
He caught it up, he gallop'd on. 
He turn'd his head, he saw a sight . . • 
His panther skins flew to the wind, 
The dark, the desert lay behind ; 
The tawny Ishmaelite was gone ; 
But something sombre as death is . • • 
Tut, tut ! the tale is not of this. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 17 

A. mountaineer, storm-stained and brown, 
From farthest desert touched the town, 
And, striding through the crowd, held up 
Above his head a jewell'd cup. 
He put two fingers to his lip, 
He whisper'd wild, he stood a-tip. 
And lean'd the while with lifted hand, 
And said, " A ship lies yonder dead," 
And said, " Doubloons lie sown in sand 
In yon far desert dead and brown. 
Beyond where wave-wash'd walls look down, 
As thick as stars set overhead. 
That three shipmasts uplift like trees" . . . 
Away ! the tale is not of these. 

An Indian hunter held a plate 
Of gold above his lifted head. 
Around which kings had sat in state . . • 
" 'Tis from that desert ship,"' they said, 
" That sails with neither sail nor breeze. 



i8 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Or galleon, that sank below 

Of old, in olden dried-up seas, 

Ere yet the red men drew the bow." 

But wrinkled women wagg'd the head. 
And walls of warriors sat that nic>-ht 
In black, nor streak of battle red. 
Around against the red camp light, 
And told such wondrous tales as these 
Of wealth within their dried-up seas. 

And one, girt well in tiger's skin. 
Who stood, like Saul, above the rest. 
With dangling claws about his breast, 
A belt without, a blade within, 
A warrior with a painted face, 
And lines that shadow'd stern and grim. 
Stood pointing east from his high place, 
And hurling thought like cannon shot. 
Stood high with visage flush'd and liot . . 
But, stay ! this tale is not of him. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 19 



11. 



By Arizona's sea of sand 
Some bearded miners, gray and old, 
And resolute in search of gold. 
Sat down to tap the savage land. 

They tented in a canon's mouth 
That gaped against the warm wide south, 
And underneath a wave-wash'd wall, 
Where now nor rains nor winds may fall, 
They delved the level salt-white sands 
For gold, with bold and horned hands. 

A miner stood beside his mine. 
He pull'd his beard, then look'd away 
Across the level sea of sand, 
Beneath his broad and hairy hand, 
A hand as hard as knots of pine. 



20 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

" It looks so like a sea," said he. 
He pull'd his beard, and he did say, 
" It looks just like a dried-up sea." 
Again he pull'd that beard of his. 
But said no other thiug than this. 

A stalwart miner dealt a stroke. 
And struck a buried beam of oak. 
An old ship's beam the shaft appear'd, 
With storm-worn faded figure-head. 
The miner twisted, twirled his beard, 
Lean'd on his pick-axe as he spoke : 
" 'Tis from some long-lost ship," he said, 
" Some laden ship of Solomon 
That sail'd these lonesome seas upon 
In search of Ophir's mine, ah me ! 
That sail'd this dried-up desert sea." . , 
Nay, nay, 'tis not a tale of gold. 
But ghostly land storm-slain and old. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 21 



III. 

But this the tale. Along a wide 
And sounding stream some silent braves, 
That stole along the farther side 
Through sweeping wood that swept the waves 
Like long arms reach'd across the tide, 
Kept watch and ward and still defied. . . . 

A low black boat that hugg'd the shores, 
An ugly boat, an ugly crew, 
Thick-lipp'd and woolly-headed slaves. 
That bow'd, that bent the white-ash oars, 
That cleft the murky waters through. 
That climb'd the swift Missouri's waves, — 
The surly, woolly-headed slaves. 

A grand old Neptune in the prow, 
Gray-hair'd, and white with touch of time, 



22 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

Yet strong as in his middle prime; 
A grizzled king, I see him now, 
With beard as blown by wind of seas, 
And wild and white as white sea-storm 
Stand up, turn suddenly, look back 
Along the low boat's wrinkled track, 
Then fold his mantle round a form 
Broad-built as any Hercules, 
And so sit silently. 

Beside 
The grim old sea-king sits his bride, 
A sun-land blossom, rudely torn 
From tropic forests to be worn 
Above as stern a breast as e'er 
Stood king at sea or anywhere. . . , 

Another boat with other crew 
Came swift and silent in her track, 
And now shot shoreward, now shot back. 
And now sat rocking fro and to, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 23 

But never once lost sight of lier. 
Tall, sunburnt, southern men were these 
From isles of blue Caribbean seas, 
And one, that woman's worshipper, 
Who looked on her, and loved but her. 

And one, that one, was wild as seas 
That wash the far dark Oregon, 
And ever leaning, urging on, 
And standing up in restless ease, 
He seem'd as lithe and free and tall 
And restless as the bouo-hs that stir 
Perpetual topt poplar trees. 
And one, that one, had eyes to teach 
The art of love, and tongue to preach 
Life's hard and sober homilies ; 
And yet his eager hands, his speech, 
All spoke the bold adventurer ; 
While zoned about the belt of each 
There swung a girt of steel, till all 
Did seem a walking arsenal. 



24 THE SHIP IN THE DESER7 



IV. 

PuESUER and pursued. And who 
Are these that make the sable crew ; 
These mighty Titans, black and nude, 
And hairy-breasted, bronzed and broad 
Of chest as an}^ demi-god. 
That dare this peopled solitude ? 

And who is he that leads them here, 
And breaks the hush of wave and wood ? 
Comes he for evil or for good ? 
Brave Jesuit or bold buccaneer ? 

Nay, these be idle themes. Let pass. 
These be but men. We may forget 
The wild sea-king, the tawny brave, 
The frowning wold, the woody shore. 
The tall-built, sunburnt men of Mars. . . . 



THE SHIP [N THE DESERT. 25 

But what and who was she, the fair? 
The fah'est face that ever yet 
Look'd in a wave as in a glass ; 
That look'd as look the still, far stars, 
So woman-hke, into the wave 
To contemplate their beauty there, 
Tet look as looking anywhere ? 

And who of all the world was she ? 
A bride, or not a bride ? A thing 
To love ? A prison 'd bird to sing ? 
You shall not know. That shall not be 
Brought from the future's great profound 
This side the happy hunting-ground . 

I only saw her, heard the sound 
Of murky waters gurgling round 
In counter-currents from the shore. 
But heard the long, strong stroke of oar 
Against the waters gray and vast. 
I only saw her as she pass'd — 



26 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

A great, sad beauty, in whose eyes 
Lay all the loves of Paradise. . . . 

You shall not know her — she who sat 
Uuconscious in my heart all time 
I dream'd and wove this Avayward rhyme, 
And loved and did not blush thereat. 

The sunlight of a sunlit land, 
A land of fruit, of flowers, and 
A land of love and calm delight ; 
A land where night is not like night, 
And noon is but a name for rest, 
And love for love is reckoned best. 

Where conversations of the eyes 
Are all enough ; where beauty thrills 
The heart like hues of harvest-home ; 
Where rage lies down, where passion dies, 
Where peace hath her abiding place. . . . 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 27 

A. face that lifted up ; sweet face 
That was so like a life begun, 
That rose for me a rising sun 
Above the bended seven hills 
Of dead and risen old new Rome. 

Not that I deem'd she loved me. Nay 
I dared not even dream of that. 
I only say I knew her ; say 
She ever sat before me, sat 
All still and voiceless as love is, 
And ever look'd so fair, divine. 
Her hush'd, vehement soul fill'd mine. 
And overfloAved with Runic bliss, 
And made itself a part of this. 

you had loved her sitting there, 
Half hidden in her loosen'd hair : 
Why, you had loved her for her eyes, 
Their large and melancholy look 



28 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Of tenderness, and well mistook 
Their love for light of Paradise. 

Yea, loved her for her large dark eyes , 
Yea, loved her for her brow's soft brown , 
Her hand as light as heaven's bars ; 
Yea, loved her for her mouth. Her mouth 
Was roses gather'd from the south, 
The warm south side of Paradise, 
And breathed upon and handed down, 
Bv angels on a stair of stars. 

Her mouth ! 'twas Egypt's mouth of old, 
Push'd out and pouting full and bold 
With simple beauty where she sat. 
Why, you had said, on seeing her. 
This creature comes from out the dim 
Far centuries, beyond the rim 
Of time's remotest reach or stir. 
Aud he who wrought Semiramis 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 29 

And shaped the Sibyls, seeing this, 
Had bow'd and made a shrine thereat, 
And all his life had worshipp'd her, 
Devout as north-Nile worshipper. 

I dared not dream she loved me. Nay, 
Her love was proud ; and pride is loth 
To look with favor, own it fond 
Of one the world loves not to-day. . . . 
No matter if she loved or no, 
God knows I loved enough for both. 
And knew her as you shall not know 
Till you have known sweet death, and you 
Have cross' d the dark ; gone over to 
The great majority beyond. 



30 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



^ 



V. 



The black men bow'd, the long oars bent. 
They struck as if for sweet life's sake, 
And one look'd back, but no man spake, 
And all wills bent to one intent. 

On through the golden fringe of day 
Into the deep, dark night, away 
And up the wave 'mid walls of wood 
They cleft, they climb'd, they bowed, they 

bent, 
But one stood tall, and restless stood, 
And one sat still all night, all day, 
And gazed in helpless wonderment. 

Her hair pour'd down like darkling wine, 
The black men lean'd, a sullen line, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 31 

The bent oars kept a steady song, 
And all the beams of brig^ht sunshine 
That touch'd the waters wild and strong, 
Fell drifting down and out of sight 
Like fallen leaves, and it was night. 

And night and day, and many days 
They climb 'd the sudden, dark gray tide, 
And she sat silent at his side. 
And he sat turning many ways : 

Sat watching for his wily foe ; 
At last he baffled him. And yet 
His brow gloom' d dark, his lips were set ; 
He lean'd, he peer'd through boughs, as though 
From heart of forests deep and dim 
Grim shapes could come confronting him. 

A grand, uncommon man was he, 
Broad-shonlder'd, and of Gothic form, 



32 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Strong-built, and hoary like a sea ; 
A high sea broken up by storm. 

His face was brown and overwrought 
By seams and shadows born of thought, 
Not over gentle. And his eyes, 
Bold, restless, resolute, and deep, 
Too deep to flow like shallow fount 
Of common men where waters mount 
And men bend down their heads and weep — 
Fierce, lumin'd eyes, where flames might rise 
Instead of flood, and flash and sweep — 
Strange eyes, that look'd unsatisfied 
With all things fair or otherwise ; 
As if his inmost soul had cried 
All time for something yet unseen. 
Some lono-desired thingr denied. 

A man whose soul was mightier far 
Than his great self, and surged and fell 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 33 

About himself as heaving seas 

Lift up aud lash, and boom, and swell 

Above some solitary bar 

That bursts through blown Samoa's sea, 

And wreck and toss eternally. 



2* 



34 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 



J 



Below the overhanging boughs 
The oars laid idle at the last. 
Yet long he look'd for hostile prows 
From out the wood and down the stream. 
They came not, and he came to dream 
Pursuit abandon'd, danger past. 

He fell'd the oak, he built a home 
Of new-hewn wood with busy hand, 
And said, " My wanderings are told." 
And said, " No more by sea, by land. 
Shall I break rest, or drift, or roam. 
For I am worn, and I grow old." 

And there, beside that surging tide. 
Where gray waves meet, and wheel, and strike. 
The man sat down as satisfied 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 35 

To sit and rest unto the end ; 
As if the strong man here had found 
A sort of brother in this sea, — 
This surging, sounding majesty 
Of troubled water, so profound, 
So sullen, strong, and lion-like, 
So sinuous and foamy bound. 

Hast seen Missouri cleave the wood 
In sounding whirlpools to the sea ? 
What soul hath known such majesty ? 
What man stood by and understood ? 

By pleasant Omaha I stood, 
Beneath a fringe of mailed wood. 
And watch'd the mighty waters heave. 
And surge, and strike, and wind, and weave. 
And make strange sounds and mutterings. 
As if of dark unutter'd things. 



J 



Z^ THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

By pleasant liigh-built Omaha 
I stand. The waves beneath me run 
All stain'd and yellow, dark and dun, 
And deep as death's sweet mystery, — 
A thousand Tibers roll'd in one. 
I count on other years. I draw 
The curtain from the scenes to be. 
I see another Rome. I see 
A Csesar tower in the land, 
And take her in his iron hand. 
I see a throne, a king, a crown, 
A high-built capital thrown down. 

I see my river rise . . . 

Away! 
The world's cold commerce of to-day 
Demands some idle flippant theme ; 
And I, your minstrel, must sit by, 
And harp along the edge of morn, 
And sing and celebrate to please 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 37 

The multitude, the mob, and these 

They know not pearls from yellow corn. 

Yea, idly sing or silent dream ; 

My harp, my hand is yours, but I — 

My soul moves down that sounding stream. 

Adieu, dun, mighty stream, adieu ! 
Adown thine wooded walls, inwrought 
With rose of Cherokee and vine, 
Was never heard a minstrel's note, 
And none would heed a song of mine. 
I find expression for my thought 
In other themes. . . . List ! I have seen 
A grizzly sporting on the green 
Of west sierras with a goat, 
And finding pastime all day through. . . • 

O sounding, swift Missouri, born 
Of Rocky Mountains, and begot 
On bed of snow at birth of morn, 



38 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Of thunder-storms and elements 
That reign where puny man comes not, 
With fountain-head in fields of gold, 
And wide arms twining wood and wold, 
And everlasting snowy tents, — 
I hail you from the Orients. 

Shall I return to you once more ? 
Shall take occasion by the throat 
And thrill with wild ^olian note ? 
Shall sit and sing by your deep shore ? 
Shall shape a reed and pipe of yore 
And wake old melodies made new. 
And thrill thine leaf-land through and through ? 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 39 



VII. 

Then long the long oars idle lay. 
The cabin's smoke came forth and curl'd 
Right lazily from river brake, 
And Time went by the other way. 
And Avho was she, the strong man's pride ? 
This one fair woman of the world. 
A captive ? Bride, or not a bride ? 
Her eyes, men say, grew sad and dim 
With watching from the river's rim, 
As waiting for some face denied. 
And yet she never wept or spake, 
Or breath'd his name for her love's sake. 

Yea, who was she ? — none ever knew. 
The great strong river swept around, 
The cabins nestled in its bend. 
But kept its secrets. Wild birds flew 



+0 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

In bevies by. The black men found 

Diversion in the chase : and wide 

Old Morgan ranged the wood, nor friend, 

Nor foeman ever at his side 

Or shared his forests deep and dim, 

Or cross'd his path or question'd him. 

He stood as one who found and named 
The middle world. What visions flamed 
Athwart the west ! What prophecies 
Were his, the gray old man, that day 
^ Who stood alone and look'd away, — 
A west from out the waving trees, 
Against the utter sundown seas. 

Alone oft-time beside the stream 
He stood and .Q,'azed as in a dream. 
As if he knew a life unknown 
To those who knew him thus alone. 

His eyes wwre gray and overborne 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 4» 

By shaggy brows, his strength was shorn, 

Yet still he ever gazed awest. 

As one who would not, could not rest. 

And whence came he ? and when, and why ? 
Men questional men, but nought was known 
Save that he roam'd the woods alone, 
And lived alone beneath the stir 
Of leaves, and letting life go by. 
Did look on her and only her. 

And had he fled with bloody hand ? 
Or had he loved some Helen fair, 
And battling lost both land and town ? 
Say, did he see his walls go down. 
Then choose from all his treasures there 
This love, and seek some other land ? 

And yet the current of his life 
Mostlike had flow'd like oil ; had been 



42 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

A monk's, for aught that all men knew. 

Mostlike the sad man's only sin, 

A cruel one, for thought is strife, 

Had been the curse of thought all through. 

Mayhap his splendid soul had spurn'd 
Insipid, sweet society, 
That stinks in nostrils of all men 
High-born and fearless-souled and free ; — 
That tasting to satiety 
Her hollow sweets he proudly turn'd, 
And did rebel and curse her then ; 
And then did stoop and from the sod 
Pluck this one flower for his breast, 
Then turn to solitude for rest. 
And turn from man in search of God. 

And as to that, T reckon it 
But right, but Christian-like and just, 
And closer after Christ's own plan, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESER7\ 43 

To take men as you find your man, 
To take a soul from God on trust, 
A fit man, or yourself unfit : 

To take man free from the control 
Of man's opinion : take a soul 
In its own troubled world, all fair 
As you behold it then and there, 
Set naked in your sight, alone. 
Unnamed, unheralded, unknown : 

Yea, take him bravely from the hand 
That reach'd him forth from nothingness. 
That took his tired soul to keep 
All night, then reach'd him out from sleep 
And sat him equal in the land ; 
Sent out from where the angels are, 
A soul new-born, without one whit 
Of bought or borrow'd character. 

Ah, bless us ! if we only could 



44 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

As ready spin and willing weave 
Sweet tales of charity and good ; 
Could we as willing clip the wings 
Of cruel tales as pleasant things, 
How sweet 'twould then be to believe, 
How good 'twould then be to be good. 



I 

\ 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 45 



VIII. 

The squirrels chattered in the leaves. 
The turkeys call'd from pawpaw wood, 
The deer with lifted nostrils stood, 
And humming-birds did wind and weave. 
Swim round about, dart in and out, 
Through fragrant forest edge made red, 
Made many-colour'd overhead 
By climbing blossoms sweet with bee 
And yellow rose of Cherokee. 

Then frosts came by and touch'd the leaves, 
Then time hung ices on the eaves. 
Then cushion snows possess'd the ground, 
And so the seasons kept their round ; 
Yet still old Morgan went and came 
From cabin door to forest dim. 
Through wold of snows, through wood of flame, 



46 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Through golden Indian-summer days, 
Hung round in soft September haze, 
And no man cross'd or question'd him. 

Nav, there was that in his stern air 
That held e'en these rude men aloof: 
None came to share the broad-built roof 
That rose so fortress-like beside 
The angry, rushing, sullen tide. 
And only black men gathered there. 
The old man's slaves, in dull content, 
Black, silent, and obedient. 

Then men push'd westward through his wood, 
His wild beasts fled, and now he stood 
Confronting men. He had endear'd 
No man, but still he went and came 
Apart, and shook his beard and strode 
His ways alone, and bore his load, 
If load it were, apart, alone. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 47 

Then men grew busy with a name 
That no man loved, that many fear'd, 
And cowards stoop'd, and cast a stone, 
As at some statue overthrown. 

Some said a pirate blown by night 
From isles of calm Caribbean land, 
Who left his comrades ; that he fled 
With many prices on his head, 
And that he bore in his hot flight 
The gather'd treasure of his band, 
In bloody and unholy hand. 

Then some did say a privateer. 
Then others, that he fled from fear, 
And climb'd the mad Missouri far. 
To where the friendly forests are ; 
And that his illy-gotten gold 
Lay sunken in his black boat's hold. 
Then others, watching his fair bride, 
Said, " There is something more beside." 



48 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Some said, a stolen bride was she, 
And that his strong^ arm in the strife 
Was red with her own brother's life, 
And that her lover from the sea 
Lay waiting for his chosen wife, 
And that a day of reckoning 
Lay waiting for this grizzled king. 

O sweet child-face, that ever gazed 
From out the wood and down the Avave I 
O eyes, that never once were raised ! 
O mouth, that never murmur gave 1 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 49 



IX. 

O DARK-EYED Ina ! All the years 

Brought her but solitude and tears. 
Lo ! ever looking out she stood 
Adown the wave, adown the wood, 
Adown the strong stream to the south, 
Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouth 
Push'd out so pitiful. Her eyes 
Fill'd full of sorrow and surprise. 

Men say that looking from her place 
A love would sometimes light her face, 
As if sweet recollections stirr'd 
Her heart and broke its loneliness, 
Like far sweet songs that come to us, 
So soft, so sweet, they are not heard, 



50 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

So far, so faint, they fill the air, 
A fragrance filling anywhere. 

And wasting all her summer years 
That utter'd only throrgh her tears, 
The seasons went, and still she stood 
For ever watchinsr down the wood. 

Yet in her heart there held a strife 
With all this wasting of sweet life 
That none who have not lived and died. 
Held up the two hands crucified 
Between the ways on either hand. 
Can look upon or understand. 

The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire : 
Between a duty and desire 
There lies no middle way or land : 
Take thou the right or the left hand, 
And so pursue, nor hesitate 
To boldly give 3^0 ur hand to fate. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 51 

In helpless indecisions lie 
The rocks on which we strike and die. 
'Twere better far to choose the worst 
Of all life's ways than to be cursed 
With indecision. Turn and choose 
Your way, then all the world refuse. 

And men who saw her still do say 
That never once her lips were heard, 
B}^ gloaming dusk or shining day, 
To utter or pronounce one word. 
Men went and came, and still she stood 
Tn silence watching down the wood. 

Yea, still she stood and look'd away, 
By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day, 
Adown the wood beyond the land. 
Her hollow face upon her hand. 
Her black, abundant hair all down 
About her loose, ungather'd gown. 



52 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

And what her thought ? her life unsaid ? 
Was it of love ? of hate ? of him, 
The tall, dark Southerner? 

Her head 
Bow'd down. The day fell dim 
Upon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept. 
She waken'd then, and waking wept. 

She dream'd, perchance, of island home, 
A land of palms ring'd round with foam, 
Where summer on her shelly shore 
Sits down and rests for evermore. 

And one who watch'd her wasted youth 
Did guess, mayhap with much of truth, 
Her heart was with that band that came 
Against her isle with sword and flame : 
And this the tale he told of her 
And her fierce, silent follower : 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

A Spaniard and adventurer, 
A man who saw her, loved, and fell 
Upon his knees and worshipp'd her ; 
And with that fervor and mad zeal 
That only sunborn bosoms feel, 
Did vow to love, to follow her 
Unto the altar ... or to hell : 

That then her gray-hair'd father bore 
The beauteous maiden hurriedly 
From out her fair isle of the sea 
To sombre wold and woody shore 
And far away, and kept her well. 
As from a habitant of hell. 
And vow'd she should not meet him more: 
That fearing still the buccaneer. 
He silent kept his forests here. 
The while men came, and still she stood 
For ever watching from the wood. 



54 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



X. 



The black-eyed biisliy squirrels ran 
Like shadows shatter'd through the boughs ; 
The gallant robin chirp' d his vows, 
The far-off pheasant thruinm'd his fan, 
A thousand blackbirds were a- wing 
In walnut-top, and it was spring. 

Old Morgan left his cabin door. 
And one sat watching as of 3^ore ; 
But why turned Morgan's face as white 
As his white beard ? 

A bird aflight, 
A squirrel peering through the trees, 
Saw some one silent steal away 
Like darkness from the face of day, 
Saw two black eyes look back, and these 
Saw her hand beckon through the trees. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 55 

He knew him, though he had not seen 
That form or face for a decade, 
Though time had shorn his locks, had made 
His form another's, flow'd between 
Their lives like some uncompass'd sea, 
Yet still he knew him as before. 
He pursed his lips, and silently 
He turn'd and sought Ids cabin's door. 

Ay ! they have come, the sun-brown'd men, 
To beard old Morgan in his den. 
It matters little who they are, 
These silent men from isles afar, 
And truly no one cares or knows 
What be their merit or demand ; 
It is enough for this rude land — 
At least, it is enough for those. 
The loud of tongue and rude of hand — 
To know that they are Morgan's foes. 



56 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Proud Morofan ! More than tono'ue can tell 
He loved that woman watching there, 
That stood in her dark stream of hair, 
That stood and dream'd as in a spell. 
And look'd so fix'd and far away. 
And who, that loveth woman well, 
Is wholly bad ? be who he may. 

Ay ! we have seen these Southern men. 
These sun-brownVl men from island shore 
In this same land, and long before. 
They do not seem so lithe as then. 
They do not look so tall, and they 
Seem not so many as of old. 
But that same resolute and bold 
Expression of unbridled will. 
That even Time must half obe}^ 
Is with them and is of them still. 

They do not counsel the .decree 

Of court or council, where they drew 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 57 

Their breath, nor law nor order knew, 
Save but the strong hand of the strong ; 
Where each stood up, avenged his wrong. 
Or sought his death all silentlv. 

They watch along the wave and wood, 
They heed, but haste not. Their estate, 
Whate'er it be, can bide and wait. 
Be it open ill or hidden good. 

No law for them ! For they have stood 
With steel, and writ their rights in blood ; 
And now, whatever 'tis the}^ seek. 
Whatever be their dark demand. 
Why, they will make it, hand to hand, 
Take time and patience : Greek to Greek. 



8* 



58 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 






XI. 



Like blown and snowy wintry pine, 
Old INI organ stoop 'd his head and pass'd 
Within his cabin door. He cast 
A great arm out to men, made sign, 
Then turned to Tna ; stood beside 
A time, then turn'd and strode the floor, 
Stopp'd short, breathed sharp, threw wide the * 

door. 
Then gazed beyond the murky tide. 
Toward where the forky peaks divide. 

He took his beard in his hard hand. 
Then slowly shook his grizzled head 
And trembled, but no word he said. 
His thought was something more than pain ; 
Upon the seas, upon the land 
He knew he should not rest again. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 59 

He turn'd to her ; but then once more 
Quick turn'd, and through the oaken door 
He sudden pointed to the west. 
His eye resumed its old command, 
The conversation of his hand, 
It was enough : she knew the rest. 

He turn'd, he stoop'd, and smoothed her 
hair, 
As if to smooth away the care 
From his great heart, with his left hand. 
His right hand hitch'd the pistol round 
That dangled at his belt . . . 

The sound 
Of steel to him was melody 
More sweet than any song of sea. 

H(> touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips. 
Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips, 
And toy'd with it as harper's hand 



6o THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Seeks out the chords when he is sad 
And purposeless. 

At last he had 
Resolved. In haste he touch'd her hair, 
Made sign she should arise — prepare 
For some long journey, then again 
He look'd awest toward the plain : 

Toward the land of dreams and space, 
The land of Silences, the land 
Of shoreless deserts sown with sand, 
Where desolation's dwelling is : 
The land where, wondering, you say. 
What dried-up shoreless sea is this ? 
Where, wandering, from day to day 
You say. To-morrow sure Ave come 
To rest in some cool resting-place. 
And yet you journey on through space 
While seasons pass, and are struck dumb 
With marvel at the distances. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 6i 

Yea, lie would go. Go utterly 
Away, and from all living kind. 
Pierce through the distances, and find 
New lands. He had outlived his race. 
He stood like some eternal tree 
That tops remote Yosemite, 
And cannot fall. He turn'd his face 
Again and contemplated space. 

And then he raised his hand to vex 
His beard, stood still, and there fell down 
Great drops from some unfrequent spring, 
And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun- 
brown. 
And ran uncheck'd, as one who recks 
Nor joy, nor tears, nor any thing. 

And then, his broad breast heaving deep, 
Like some dark sea in troubled sleep, 
Blown round with groaning ships and wrecks, 



62 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

He sudden roused himself, and stood 
With all the strength of his stern mood. 
Then call'd his men, and bade them go 
And bring black steeds with banner'd necks, 
And strong like burly buffalo. 



I 



1 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 6 



o 



xn. 

The sassafras took leaf, and men 
Push'd west in hosts. The black men drew 
Their black-maned horses silent through 
The solemn woods. 

One midnifrht when 
The ciirrd moon tipp'd her horn, and threw 
A black oak's shadow slant across 
A low mound hid in leaves and moss, 
Old Morgan cautious came and drew 
From out the ground, as from a grave, 
A great box, iron-bound and old. 
And fill'd, men say, with pirates' gold, 
And then they, silent as a dream. 
In long black shadows cross'd the stream. 

Lo ! here the smoke of cabins curl'd, 
The borders of the middle world ; 



64 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

And mighty, hairy, half-wild men 
Sat down in silence, held at bay 
By mailed forests. Far away 
The red men's boundless borders lay, 
And lodges stood in legions then, 
Strip'd pyramids of painted men 

What strong uncommon men were these, 
These settlers hewing to the seas ! 
Great horny-handed men and tan ; 
Men blown from any border land ; 
Men desperate and red of hand, 
And men in love and men in debt, 
And men who lived but to forget, 
And men whose very hearts had died 
Who onlv sous^ht these Avoods to hide 
Their wretchedness, held in the van ; 
Yet every man among them stood 
Alone, along that sounding wood, 
And every man somehow a man. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 65 

A race of unnamed giants these, 
That moved like gods among the trees, 
So stern, so stubborn -brow'd and slow, 
With strength of blaek-maned buffalo. 
And each man notable and tall, 
A kingly and unconscious Saul, 
A sort of sullen Hercules. 

A star stood large and white awest, 
Then Time uprose and testified ; 
They push'd the mailed wood aside, 
They toss'd the forest like a toy. 
That great forgotten race of men. 
The boldest band that yet has been 
Together since the siege of Troy, 
And followed it ... . and found their rest. 

What strength I what strife ! what rude 
unrest ! 
What shocks ! what half-shaped armies met I 



66 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

A mighty nation moving west, 
With all its steely sinews set 
Against the living forests. Hear 
The shouts, the shots of pioneer ! 
The Tended forests, rolling wheels. 
As if some half-check'd army reels, 
Recoils, redoubles, comes again, 
Loud sounding like a hurricane. 

O bearded, stalwart, westmost men. 
So tower-like, so Gothic-built ! 
A kingdom won without the guilt 
Of studied battle ; that hath been 
Your blood's inheritance .... 

Your heirs 
Know not your tombs. The great ploughshares 
Cleave softly through the mellow loam \ 

Where you have made eternal home 
And set no sign. 

Your epitaphs 

i 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 67 

Are writ in furrows. Beauty laughs 

While through the green ways wandering 

Beside her love, slow gathering 

White starry-hearted May-time blooms 

Above your lowly levell'd tombs ; 

And then below the spotted sky 

She stops, she leans, she wonders why 

The ground is heaved and broken so, 

And why the grasses darker grow 

And droop and trail like wounded wing. 

Yea, Time, the grand old harvester, 
Has gather'd you from wood and plain. 

We call to you again, again ; 

The rush and rumble of the car 

Comes back in answer. Deep and wide 

The wheels of progress have pass'd on ; 

The silent pioneer is gone. 

His ghost is moving down the trees, 

And now we push the memories 



1 



6S THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Of bluff, bold men who dared and died 
In foremost battle, quite aside. 

O perfect Eden of the earth, 
In poppies sown, in harvest set I 
O sires, mothers of my West ! 
How shall we count your proud bequest? 
But yesterday ye gave us birth ; 
We eat your hard-earn'd bread to-day, 
Nor toil nor spin nor make regret, 
But praise our petty selves and say 
How great we are, and all forget 
The still endurance of the rude 
Unpolish'd sons of solitude. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 69 



xni. 

And one was glad at morn, but one, 
The tall old sea-king, grim and gray, 
Look'd back to where his cabins lay 
And seem'd to hesitate. 

He rose 
At last, as from his dream's repose, 
From rest that counterfeited rest. 
And set his blown beard to the west. 
And drove against the setting sun, 
Along the levels vast and dun. 

His steeds were steady, strong, and fleet, 
The best in all the wide west land, 
Their manes were in the air, their feet 
Seem'd scarce to touch the flying sand ; 
The reins were in the reaching hand. 



jpi THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

They rode like men gone mad, they fled, 
All day and many days they ran, ^ 

And in the rear a gray old man 
Kept watch, and ever tnrn'd his head, 
Half eager and half angry, back 
Along their dusty desert track. 

And one look'd back, but no man spoke, 
They rode, they swallow'd up the plain ; 
The sun sank low, he look'd again. 
With lifted hand and shaded eyes. 
Then far arear he saw uprise. 
As if from giant's stride or stroke, 
Dun dust-like puffs of battle-smoke. 

He turn'd, his left hand clutch'd the rein, 
He struck a west his high right hand. 
His arms were like the limbs of oak. 
They knew too well the man's command, 
They mounted, plunged ahead again, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 71 

And one look'd back, but no man spoke, 

Of all that sullen iron band, 

That reached along that barren land. 

O weary days of weary blue. 
Without one changing breath, without 
One single cloud-ship sailing through 
The blue seas bendinc: round about 
In one unbroken blotless hue. 
Yet on they fled, and one look'd back 
For ever down their distant track. 

The tent is pitch'd, the blanket spread, 
The earth receives the weary head. 
The night rolls west, the east is gray, 
The tent is struck, they mount, away ; 
They ride for life the livelong day. 
They sweep the long grass in their track, 
And one leads on, and one looks back. 



;2 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

What scenes they pass'd, what camps at 
morn, 
What weary columns kept the road ; 
What herds of troubled cattle low'd, 
And trumpeted like lifted horn ; 
And everywhere, or road or rest, 
All things were pointing to the west ; 
A weary, long, and lonesome track. 
And all led on, but one look'd back. 

They climb'd the rock-built breasts of earth, 
The Titan-fronted, blowy steeps 
That cradled Time . . . Where Freedom keeps 
Her flag of white blown stars unfurl'd. 
They turn'd about, they saw the birth 
Of sudden dawn upon the world : 
Aoaiu thev oazed ; ther saw the face 
Of God, and named it boundless space. 

And they descended and did roam 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 73 

Through levell'd distances set round 

By room. They saw the Silences 

Move by and beckon : saw the forms, 

The very beards, of burly storms, 

And heard them talk like sounding seas. 

On unnamed heights bleak-blown and brown, 

And torn like battlements of Mars, 

They saw the darknesses come down, 

Like curtains loosen'd from the dome 

Of God's cathedral, built of stars. 

They pitch'd the tent, where rivers run 

As if to drown the falling sun. 

They saw the snowy mountains roll'd, 

And heaved along the nameless lands 

Like mighty billows ; saw the gold 

Of awful sunsets ; saw the blush 

Of sudden dawn, and felt the hush 

Of heaven when the da}^ sat down, 

And hid his face in dusky hands. 
4 



74 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

The long and lonesome nights ! the tent 
That nestled soft in sweep of grass, 
The hills against the firmament 
Where scarce the moving moon could pass ; 
The cautious camp, the smother'd light, 
The silent sentinel at night ! 

The wild beasts howling from the hill ; 
The troubled cattle bellowing ; 
The savage prowling by the spring. 
Then sudden passing swift and still, 
And bended as a bow is bent. 
The arrow sent ; the arrow spent 
And buried in its bloody place. 
The dead man lying on his face ! 

The clouds of dust, their cloud by day ; 
Their pillar of unfailing fire 
Tlie far North star. And high, and 
higher . . . 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 75 

They climb'd so high it seem'cl eftsoon 
That thev must face the fallino- moon, 
That like some flame-lit ruin lay 
Thrown down before their weary way. 

They learn'd to read the sign of storms, 
The moon's wide circles, sunset bars. 
And storm-provoking blood and flame ; 
And, like the Chaldean shepherds, came 
At night to name the moving stars. 
In heaven's face they pictured forms 
Of beasts, of fishes of the sea. 
They mark'd the Great Bear wearily 
Rise up and drag his clinking chain 
Of stars around the starry main. 

What lines of yoked and patient steers I 
What weary thousands pushing west ! 
What restless pilgrims seeking rest, 
As if from out the edge of years ! 



76; THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

What great yoked brutes with briskets low, 
With wrinkled necks like buffalo, 
With round, brown, liquid, pleading eves. 
That turn'd so slow and sad to you. 
That shone like love's eyes soft with tears, 
That seem'd to plead, and make replies 
The while they bow'd their necks and drew 
The creaking load ; and look'd at you. 
Their sable briskets swept the ground, 
Then- cloven feet kept solemn sound. 

Two sullen bullocks led the line, 
Their great eyes shining bright like wine 
Two sullen cajDtive kings were they, 
That had in time held herds at bay. 
And even now they crush'd the sod 
With stolid sense of majesty. 
And stately stepp'd and stately trod, 
As if 'twas something still to be 
Kings even in captivity. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 77 

XIV. 

And why did these same sunburnt men 
Let Morgan gain the plain, and then 
Pursue him to the utter sea ? 
You ask me here impatiently. 
And I as pertly must reply, 
My task is but to tell a tale, 
To give a wide sail to the gale. 
To paint the boundless plain, the sky ; 
To rhyme, nor give a reason why. 

Mostlike they sought his gold alone. 
And fear'd to make their quarrel known 
Lest it should keep its secret bed ; 
Mostlike they thought to best prevail 
And conquer with united hands 
Alone upon the lonesome sands ; 
Mostlike they had as much to dread 
Mostlike — but I must tell my tale. 



78 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

And Morgan, ever looking back, 
Push'd on, push'd up his mountain track, 
Past camp, past train, past caravan, 
Past flying beast, past failing man. 
Past brave men battling with a foe 
That circled them with lance and bow 
And feather'd arrows all a-wing ; 
Till months unmeasured came and ran 
The calendar with him, as though 
Old Time had lost all reckoning ; 
Then passed for aye the creaking trains. 
And pioneers that named the plains. 

Those brave old bricks of Forty-nine ! 
What lives they lived ! what deaths they 

died! 
A thousand canons, darkling wide 
Below Sierra's slopes of pine, 
Receive them now. 

And they who died 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 79 

Along the far, dim, desert route. 
Their ghosts are many. 

Let them keep 
Their vast possessions. 

The Piute, 
The tawny warrior, will dispute 
No boundary with these. And I, 
Who saw them live, who felt them die, 
Say, let their unploughed ashes sleep, 
Untouched by man, by plain or steep. 

The bearded, sunbrown'd men who bore 
The burthen of that frightful year. 
Who toil'd, but did not gather store. 
They shall not be forgotten. 

Drear 
And white, the plains of Shoshonee 
Shall point us to that farther shore, 
And long white shining lines of bones. 
Make needless sign or white mile-stones. 



8o THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel ; 
The train that moved like drifting barge ; 
The dust that rose up like a cloud, 
Like smoke of distant battle ! Loud 
The great whips rang like shot, and steel 
Of antique fashion, crude and large, 
Flash'd back as in some battle charge. 

They sought, yea, they did find their rest 
Along that long and lonesome way, 
These brave men buffeting the West 
With lifted faces. 

Full were they 
Of great endeavor. Brave and true 
As stern Crusader clad in steel, 
They died a-field as it was fit. 
Made strong with hope, they dared to do 
Achievement that a host to-day 
Would stagger at, stand back and reel, 
Defeated at the thought of it. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 8 1 

What brave endeavor to endure ! 
What patient hope, when hope was past ! 
What still surrender at the last, 
A thousand leagues from hope ! how pure 
They lived, how proud they died ! 
How generous with life ! 

The wide 
And gloried age of chivalry 
Hath not one page like this to me. 

Let all these golden days go by, 
In sunny summer weather. I 
But think upon my buried brave, 
And breathe beneath another sky. 
Let beauty glide in gilded car, 
And find my sundown seas afar, 
Forgetful that 'tis but one grave 
From eastmost to the westmost wave. 

Yea, I remember ! The still tears 
4* F 



82 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell ! 
The final, silent, sad farewell ! 
God ! these are with me all the years! 
They shall be with me ever. I 
Shall not forget. I hold a trust. 
They are a part of my existence. 

When 
Adown the shining iron track 
Yon sweep, and fields of corn flash back. 
And herds of lowing steers move by, 
And men laugh loucl, in mute distrust, 
I turn to other days, to men 
Who made a pathway with their dust. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, S3 



XV. 

At last he pass'd all men or sign 
Of man. Yet still his lono; black line 
Was push'd and pointed for the west ; 
The sea, the utmost sea, and rest. 

He climbed, descended, climbed again, 
Until he stood at last as lone, 
As solitary and unknown. 
As some lost ship upon the main. 

O there was grandeur in his air, 
An old-time splendor in his eye. 
When he had climb'd the bleak, the high, 
The rock-built bastions of the plain. 
And thrown a-back his blown white hair, 
And halting turn'd to look again. 



84 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

And long, from out his lofty place, 
He look'd far down the fading plain 
For his pursuers, but in vain. 
Yea, he was glad. Across his face 
A careless smile was seen to play, 
The first for many a stormy day. 

He turn'd to Ina, dark and fair 
As some sad twilight ; touch'd her hair, 
Stoop'd low, and kiss'd her silently. 
Then silent held her to his breast. 
Then waved command to his black men, 
Look'd east, then mounted slow, and then 
Led leisurely against the west. 

And why should he, who dared to die, 
Who more than once with hissing breath 
Had set his teeth and pray'd for death, 
Have fled these men, or wherefore fly 
Before them now ? why not defy ? 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 85 

His midnight men were strong and true, 
And not unused to strife, and knew 
The masonry of steel right well, 
4nd all its signs that lead to hell. 

It might have been his youth had wrought 
Some wrong his years would now repair 
That made him fly and still forbear ; 
It might have been he only sought 
To lead them to some fatal snare 
And let them die by piece-meal there. 

It might have been that his own blood, 
A brother, son, pursued with curse. 
It might have been this woman fair 
Was this man's child, an only thing 
To love in all the universe. 
And that the old man's iron will 
Kept pirate's child from pirate still. 
These rovers had a world their own. 
Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown. 



86 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

I trow it was not shame or fear 
Of any man or any thing 
That death in any shape might bring. 
It might have been some lofty sense 
Of his own truth and innocence, 
And virtues lofty and severe — 
Nay, nay ! what need of reasons here ? 

They touch'd a fringe of tossing trees 
That bound a mountain's brow like bay, 
And through the fragrant boughs a breeze 
Blew salt-flood freshness. 

Far away, 
From mountain brow to desert base 
Lay chaos, space, unbounded space, 
In one vast belt of purple bound. 
The black men cried, " The sea ! " They 

bow'd 
Their black heads in their hard black hands. 
Tliey wept for joy. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 87 

They laugh'd, and broke 
The silence of an age, and spoke 
Of rest at last ; and, group'd in bands. 
They threw their long black arms about 
Each other's necks, and laugh'd aloud, 
Then wept again with laugh and shout. 

.Yet Morgan spake no word, but led 
His band with oft-averted head 
Right through the cooling trees, till he 
Stood out upon the lofty brow 
And mighty mountain wall. 

And now 
The men who shouted, " Lo, the sea ! " 
Rode in the sun ; but silently : 
Stood in the sun, then look'd below. 
They look'd but once, then look'd away, 
Then look'd each other in the face. 
They could not lift their brows, nor say, 
But held their heads, nor spake, for lo ! 



88 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breath 
Of sea, but only sand and death, 
And one eternity of space 
Confronted them with fiery face. 

'Twas vastness even as a sea, 
So still it sang in symphonies ; 
But yet without the sense of seas, 
Save depth, and space, and distances. 
'Twas all so shoreless, so profound. 
It seem'd it were earth's utter bound 
'Twas like the dim edge of death is 
'Twas hades, hell, eternity I 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 89 



XVI. 

Then Morgan hesitating stood, 
Look'd down the deep and steep descent 
With wilder'd brow and wonderment, 
Then gazed against the cooUng wood. 

And she beside him gazed at this, 
Then turn'd her great, sad eyes to his ; 
He shook his head and look'd away, 
Then sadly smiled, and still did say, 
" To-morrow, child, another day." 

O thou to-morrow ! M^^stery I 
O day that ever runs before I 
What has thine hidden hand in store 
For mine, to-morrow, and for me ? 
thou to-morrow ! what hast thou 
In store to make me bear the now ? 



90 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

O day in which we shall forget 
The tangled troubles of to-day ! 
O day that laughs at duns, at debt ! 
O day of promises to pay ! 
O shelter from all present storm ! 
O dav in which we shall reform ! 

O day of all days for reform ! 
Convenient day of promises ! 
Hold back the shadow of the storm. 
O bless'd to-morrow ! Chiefest friend, 
Let not thy mystery be less, 
But lead us blindfold to the end. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 91 



XVII. 

Old Morgan eyed his men, look'd back 
Against the groves of tamarack, 
Then tapp'd his stirrup-foot, and stray'd 
His hard left hand along the mane 
Of his strong steed, and careless play'd 
His fingers through the silken skein. 
And seemed a time to touch the rein. 

And then he spurr'd him to her side, 
And reach'd his hand and, leaning wide, 
He smiling push'd her falling hair 
Back from her brow, and kiss'd her there. 

Yea, touch'd her softly, as if she 
Had been some priceless, tender flower, 



92 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Yet toucli'd her as one taking leave 
Of his .one love in lofty tower 
Before descending to the sea 
Of battle on his battle eve. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 93 



XVIII. 

A DISTANT shout ! quick oaths ! alarms I 
The black men start up suddenly, 
Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms, 
And bare bright arms all instantly. 

But he, he slowly turns, and he 
Looks all his full soul in her face. 
He does not shout, he does not say, 
But sits serenely in his place 
A time, then slowly turns, looks back 
Between the trim-bough'd tamarack, 
And up the winding mountain way, 
To where the long strong grasses lay. 

He raised his glass in his two hands, 
Then in his left hand let it fall, 



94. THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er, 

Then reach'd his olass, waved cold commands, 

Then tapp'd his stirrup as before. 

Stood in the stirrup stern and tall, 

Then ran his hand along the mane 

Half nervous-like, ajid that was all. 

His head half settled on his breast, 
His face a-beard like bird a-nest, 
And then he roused himself, he spoke. 
He reach'd an arm like arm of oak. 
He struck a-west his great broad hand, 
And seem'd to hurl his hot command. 

He clutch'd his rein, struck sharp his heel, 
Look'd at his men, and smiled half sad. 
Half desperate, then hitch'd his steel. 
And all his stormy presence had. 
As if he kept once more his keel 
On listless seas where breakers reel. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 95 

He toss'd again his iron hand 
Above the deep, steep desert space, 
Above the burning seas of sand, 
And look'd liis black men in the face. 

They spake not, nor look'd back again, 
They struck the heel, they clutch'd the rein, 
And down the darkling plunging steep 
They dropped toward the dried-up deep. 

Below ! It seem'd a league below, 
The black men rode, and she rode well, 
Against the gleaming sheening haze 
That shone like some vast sea ablaze, 
That seem'd to gleam, to glint, to glow 
As if it mark'd the shores of hell. 

Then Morgan stood alone, look'd back 
From off the fierce wall where he stood. 
And watch'd his dusk approaching foe. 



96 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

He saw him creep along his track, 
Saw him descending from the wood, 
And smiled to see how worn and slow. 

Then when his foemen hounding came 
In pistol-shot of where he stood, 
He wound his hand in his steed's mane, 
And plunging to the desert plain. 
Threw back his white beard like a cloud, 
And looking back did shout aloud 
Defiance like a stormy flood. 
And shouted, " Vasques ! " called his name, 
And dared him to the desert flame. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 97 



XIX. 

A CLOUD of dust adown the steep, 
Where scarce a whirling hawk would sweep, 
The cloud his foes had follow'd fast, 
And Morgan like a cloud had pass'd, 
Yet passed like some proud king of old ; 
And now mad Yasques could not hold 
Control of his one wild desire 
To meet old Morgan, in his ire. 

He cursed aloud, he shook his rein 
Above the desert darkling deep, 
And urged his steed toward the steep, 
But urged his weary steed in vain. 

Old Morgan heard his oath and shout, 
And Morgan turn'd his head once more, 

6 G 



98 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

And wheel'd his stout steed short about, 
Then seem'd to count their numbers o'er. 

And then his right hand touch'd his 
steel, 
And then he tapp'd his iron heel 
And seem'd to fight with thought. 

At Last, 
As if the final die was cast, 
And cast as carelessly as one 
Would toss a white coin in the sun, 
He touch'd his rein once more, and then 
His pistol laid with idle heed 
Prone down the toss'd mane of his steed. 
And he rode down the rugged way 
Tow'rd where the wide, white desert lay, 
By broken gorge and cavern'd den. 
And join'd his band of midnight men. 

Some say the gray old man had crazed 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 99 

From mountain fruits that he had pluck'd 
While winding through the wooded ways 
Above the steep. 

But others say 
That he had turn'd aside and suck'd 
Sweet poison from the honey dews 
That he like manna all the day 
On dewy leaves so crystal fair 
And temptingly that none refuse ; 
That thus made mad the man did dare 
Confront the desert and despair. 

Then other mountain men explain, 
That when one looks upon this sea 
Of glowing sand, he looks again, 
Again, through gossamers that run 
In scintillations of the sun 
Along this white eternity. 
And looks until the brain is dazed, 
Bewilder'd, and the man is crazed. 



loo THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Then one, a grizzled mountaineer, 
A thin and sinewy old man. 
With face all wrinkle-wrought, and tan, 
And presence silent and austere, 
Does tell a tale, with reaching face 
And bated breath, of this weird place, 
Of many a stalwart mountaineer 
And Piute tall who perish'd here. 

He tells a tale with whisper'd breath 
Of skin-clad men who track'd this shore, 
Once populous with sea-set town, 
And saw a woman Avondrous fair. 
And, wooing, follow'd her far down 
Through burning sands to certain death ; 
And then he catches short his breath. 

He tells : Nay, this is all too long ; 
Enough. The old man shakes his hair 
When he is done, and shuts his eyes, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, loi 

So satisfied and so self-wise, 

As if to sa}^, " 'Tis nothing rare, 

This following the luring fair 

To death, and bound in thorny thong ; 

'Twas ever thus; the old, old song." 



I02 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 



XX. 

Go ye and look upon that land, 
That far vast land that few behold, 
And none beholding understand, — 
That old, old land which men call new, 
That land as old as time is old ; — 
Go journey with the seasons through 
Its wastes, and learn how limitless, 
How shoreless lie the distances. 
Before you come to question this. 
Or dare to dream what grandeur is 

The solemn silence of that plain. 
Where unmanned tempests ride and reign, 
It awes and it possesses you. 
'Tis, oh ! so eloquent. 

The blue 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 103 

And bended skies seem built for it, 

With rounded roof all fashioned fit, 

And frescoed clouds, quaint-wrought and true : 

While all else seems so far, so vain, 

An idle tale but illy told, 

Before this land so lone and old. 

Its story is of God alone, 
For man has lived and gone away. 
And left but little heaps of stone, 
And all seems some long yesterday. 

Lo ! here you learn how more than fit 
And dignified is silence, when 
You hear the petty jeers of men 
Who point, and show their pointless wit. 

The vastness of that voiceless plain, 
its awful solitudes remain 
Thenceforth for aye a part of you, 



I04 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

And you are of the favored few, 
For you have learn'd your littleness, 
And heed not names that name you less. 

Some silent red men cross your track ; 
Some sun-tann'd trappers come and go ; 
Some rolling seas of buffalo 
Break thunder-like and far away 
Against the foot-hills, breaking back 
Like breakers of some troubled bay ; 
But not a voice the long, lone day. 

Some white-tail'd antelope blow by 
So airy-like ; some foxes shy 
And shadow-like shoot to and fro 
Like weavers' shuttles, as 3^ou pass ; 
And now and then from out the grass 
You hear some lone bird cluck, and call 
A sharp keen call for her lost brood, 
That only makes the solitude, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 105 

That mantles like some sombre pall, 
Seem deeper still, and that is all. 

A wide domain of mysteries 
And signs that men misunderstand ! 
A land of space and dreams ; a land 
Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas ! 

A land of caves and caravans. 
And lonely wells and pools ; 

A land 
That hath its purposes and plans, 
That seems so like dead Palestine, 
Save that its wastes have no confine 
Till push'd against the levelFd skies ; 
A land from out whose depths shall rise 
The new-time prophets. 

Yea, the land 
From out whose awful depths shall come. 
All clad in skins, with dusty feet, 
G* 



io6 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

A man fresh from his Maker's hand, 
A singer singing oversweet, 
A charmer charming very wise ; 
And then all men shall not be dumb. 

Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say, 
" Take heed, for I prepare the way 
For weary feet." 

Lo ! from this land 
Of Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand. 
The Christ shall come when next the race 
Of man shall look upon his face. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 107 



XXL 

PUESUER and pursued ! who knows 
The why he left the breezy pine, 
The fragrant tamarack and vine, 
Red rose and precious yellow rose ! 

Nay, Yasques held the vantage ground 
Above him by the wooded steep, 
And right nor left no passage lay, 
And there Avas left him but that wav, — 
The way through blood, or to the deep 
And lonesome deserts far profound, 
That know not sight of man, or sound. 

Hot Vasques stood upon the rim. 
High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire. 
He saw a far gray eagle swim, 



loS THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

He saw a black hawk wheel, retire, 
And shun that desert wide a-wing, 
But saw no other living thing. 

High in the full sun's gold and flame 
He halting and half waiting came 
And stood below the belt of wood, 
Then moved along the broken hill 
And looked below. 

And long he stood 
With lips set firm and brow a-frown, 
And warring with his iron will. 
He mark'd the black line winding down 
As if into the doors of death. 
And as he gazed a breath arose 
As from his far-retreating foes, 
So hot it almost took his breath. 

His black eye flashed an angry fire, 
He stood upon the mountain brow, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 109 

With lifted arm like oaken bough ; 
The hot pursuer halting stood 
Irresolute, in nettled ire ; 
Then look'd against the cooling wood, 
Then strode he sullen to and fro, 
Then turned and long he gazed below. 

The sands flash'd back like fields of snow, 
Like far blown seas that flood and flow. 
The while the rounded sky rose higher. 
And cleaving through the upper space, 
The flush'd sun settled to his place. 
Like some far hemisphere of fire. 

And yet again he gazed. And now, 
Far off and faint, he saw or guess'd 
He saw, beyond the sands a-west, 
A dim and distant lifting beach 
That daring men might dare and reach : 
Dim shapes of toppled peaks with pine, 



no THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

And water'd foot-hills dark like wine, 
And fruits on many a bended bough. 

The leader turn'd and shook his head. 
"And shall we turn aside," he said, 
" Or dare this hell ? " The men stood still 
As leaning on his sterner will. 

And then he stopp'd and turn'd again. 
And held his broad hand to his brow, 
And looked intent and eagerly. 
The far white levels of the plain 
Flashed back like billows. 

Even now 
He saw rise up remote, 'mid sea, 
'Mid space, 'mid Avastes, 'mid nothingness, 
A ship becalm'd as in distress. 

The dim sign pass'd as suddenly, 
A gossamer of golden tress, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. iil 

Thrown over some still middle sea, 
And then his eager eyes grew dazed, — 
He brought his two hands to his face. 
Again he raised his head, and gazed 
With flashing eyes and visage fierce 
Far out, and resolute to pierce 
The far, far, faint receding reach 
Of space and touch its farther beach. 
He saw but space, unbounded space ; 
Eternal space and nothingness. 

Then all wax'd anger'd as they gazed 
Far out upon the shoreless land. 
And clench'd their doubled hands and raised 
Their long bare arms, but utter'd not. 
At last one started from the band. 
His bosom heaved as billows heave, 
Great heaving bosom, broad and brown : 
He raised his arm, push'd up his sleeve, 
Push'd bare his arm, strode up and down, 



112 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

With hat pushed back, and flushed and 

hot, 
And shot sharp oaths like cannon shot. 

Again the man stood still, again 
He strode the height like hoary storm. 
Then shook his fists, and then his form 
Did writhe as if it writhed with pain. 

And yet again his face was raised, 
And yet again he gazed and gazed, 
Above his fading, failing foe. 
With gather'd brow and visage fierce, 
As if his soul would part or pierce 
The awful depths that lay below. 

He had as well look'd on that sea 
That keeps Samoa's coral isles 
Amid ten thousand watery miles, 
Bound round by one eternity ; 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 113 

Bound round by realms of nothingness, 
In love with their own loneliness. 
He saw but space, unbounded space, 
And brought his brown hands to his face. 

There roll'd away to left, to right, 
Unbroken walls as black as night, 
And back of these there distant rose 
Steep cones of everlasting snows. 

At last he was resolved, his form 
Seem'd like a pine blown rampt with storm. 
He mounted, clutch'd his reins, and then 
Turn'd sharp and savage to his men ; 
And silent then led down the way 
To night that knows not night nor day. 



114 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 



XXII. 

Like some great serpent black and stiU, 
Old Morgan's men stole down the bill. 
Far down the steep they wound and wound 
Until the black line touched that land 
Of gleaming white and silver sand 
That knows not human sight or sound. 

How broken plunged the steep descent ; 
How barren ! Desolate, and rent 
By-earthquake's shock, the land lay dead, 
With dust and ashes on its head. 

'Twas as some old world overthrown, 
Where Theseus fought and Sappho dreamed 
In eons ere they touched this land, 
And found their proud souls foot and hand 
Bound to the flesh and stung with pain. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 115 

A.n ugly skeleton it seem'd 
Of its own self. The fiery I'ain 
Of red volcanoes here had sown 
The death of cities of the plain. 

The very devastation gleamed. 
All burnt and black, and rent and seam'd, 
Ay, vanquished quite and overthrown, 
And torn with thunder-stroke, and strown 
With cinders, lo ! the dead earth lay 
As waiting for the judgment day. 

Why, tamer men had turn'd and said, 

On seeing this, with start and dread. 
And whisper'd each with gather'd breath, 
'' We come on the confines of death." 

They wound below a savage bluff 
That lifted, from its sea-mark'd base. 
Great walls with characters cut rough 



Li6 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

And deep by some long-perish'd race ; 
And lo ! strange beasts unnamed, unknown, 
Stood hewn and limn'd upon the stone. 

The iron hoofs sank here and there, 
Plough'd deep in ashes, broke anew 
Old broken idols, and laid bare 
Old bits of vessels that had grown, 
As countless ages cycled through, 
Imbedded with the common stone. 

A mournful land as land can be 
Beneath their feet in ashes lay, 
Beside that dread and dried-up sea ; 
A city older than that gray 
And grass-grown tower builded when 
Confusion cursed the tongues of men. 

Beneath, before, a city lay 
That in her majesty had shamed 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 117 

The wolf-nursed conqueror of old ; 
Below, before, and far away 
There reach'd the white arm of a bay, 
A broad bay shrunk to sand and stone, 
Where ships had rode and breakers roll'd 
When Babylon was yet unnamed, 
And Nimrod's hunting-fields unknown. 

Some serpents slid from out the grass 
That grew in tufts by shatter'd stone, 
Then hid beneath some broken mass 
That Time had eaten as a bone 
Is eaten by some savage beast ; 
An everlasting palace feast. 

A dull-eyed rattlesnake that lay 
All loathsome, yellow-skinn'd, and slept, 
Coil'd tight as pine-knot, in the sun, 
With flat head through the centre run. 
Struck blindly back, then rattling crept 



ii8 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Flat-bellied down the dusty way . . • 
'Twas all the dead land had to say. 

Two pink-eyed hawks, wide-wing'd and gray, 
Scream'd savagely, and, circling high. 
And screaming still in mad dismay. 
Grew dim and died against the sky . . , 
'Twas all the heavens had to say. 

The grasses fail'd, and then a mass 
Of brown, burnt cactus ruled the land, 
And topt the hillocks of hot sand. 
Where scarce the horned toad could pass. 
Then stunted sage on either hand, 
All loud with odors, spread the land. 

The sun rose right above, and fell 
As falling molten as they pass'd. 
Some low-built junipers at last. 
The last that o'er the desert look'd, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 119 

Thick-bough'd, and black as shapes of hell 
Where dumb owls sat with bent bills hook'd 
Beneath their wings awaiting night, 
Rose up, then faded from the sight : 
Tlien not another living thing 
Crept on the sand or kept the wing. 

White Azteckee ! Dead Azteckee ! 
Vast sepulchre of buried sea ! 
What dim ghosts hover on thy rim, 
What stately-manner'd shadows swim 
Along thy gleaming waste of sands 
And shoreless limits of dead lands ? 

Dread Azteckee ! Dead Azteckee ! 
White place of ghosts, give up thy dead : 
Give back to Time thy buried hosts I 
The new world's tawny Ishmaelite, 
The roving tent-born Shoshonee, 
Who shuns thy shores as death, at night. 



I20 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Because thou art so white, so dread, 
Because thou art so ghostly white, 
Because thou hast thy buried hosts, 
Has named thy shores " the place of ghosts." 

Thy white uncertain sands are white 
With bones of thy unburied dead 
That will not perish from the sight. 
They drown but perish not, — ah me I 
What dread unsightly sights are spread 
Along this lonesome dried-up sea. 

White Azteckee, give up to me 
Of all th}^ prison'd dead but one, 
That now lies bleaching in the sun, 
To tell what strange allurements lie 
Within this dried-up oldest sea. 
To tempt men to its heart and die. 

Old, hoar, and dried-up sea ! so old I 
So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold ! 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. I2i 

Tea, thou art old and hoary white 
With time, and ruin of all things ; 
And on thy lonesome borders night 
Sits brooding as with wounded wings. 

The winds that toss'd thy waves and blew 
Across thy breast the blowing sail, 
And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crew 
From farther seas, no more prevail. 

Thy white- waird cities all lie prone, 
With but a pyramid, a stone, 
Set head and foot in sands to tell 
The tired strano^er where thev fell. 

The patient ox that bended low 
His neck, and drew slow up and down 
Thy thousand freights through rock-built town 
Is now the free-born bufPalo. 

No longer of the timid fold, 
6 



£22 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

The mountain sheep leaps free and bold 
His high-built summit and looks down 
From battlements of buried town. 

Thine ancient steeds know not the rein ; 
They lord the land ; they come, they go 
At will ; they laugh at man ; they blow 
A cloud of black steeds o'er the plain. 

Thy monuments lie buried now, 
The ashes whiten on thy brow, 
The winds, the waves, have drawn away 
The very wild man dreads to stay. 

O ! thou art very old. I lay, 
Made dumb with awe and wonderment. 
Beneath a palm before my tent. 
With idle and discouraged hands, 
Not many days agone, on sands 
Of awful, silent Africa. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 123 

Long gazing on her might}" shades, 
I did recall a semblance there 
Of thee. I mused where story fades 
From her dark brow and found her fair. 

A slave, and old, within her veins 
There runs that warm, forbidden blood 
That no man dares to dignify 
In elevated song. 

The chains 
That held her race but yesterday 
Hold still the hands of men. Forbid 
Is Etliiop. 

The turbid flood 
Of prejudice lies stagnant still, 
And all the world is tainted. Will 
And wit lie broken as a lance 
Against the brazen mailed face 
Of old opinion. 



124 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

None advance 
Steel-clad and glad to the attack, 
With trumpet and with song. Look back I 
Beneath yon pyramids lie hid 
The histories of her great race. 
Old Nilus rolls right sullen by, 
With all his secrets. 

Who shall say : 
My father rear'd a pyramid ; 
My brother clipp'd the dragon's wings ; 
My mother was Semiramis ? 
Yea, harps strike idly out of place ; 
Men sing of savage Saxon kings 
New-born and known but yesterday, 
And Norman blood presumes to say. . • • 

Nay, ye who boast ancestral name 
And vaunt deeds dignified by time 
Must not despise her. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 125 

Who hath worn 
Since time began a face that is 
So all-enduring, old like this — 
A face like Africa's ? 

Behold ! 
The Sphinx is Africa. The bond 
Of silence is upon her. 

Old 

And white with tombs, and rent and 

shorn ; 
With raiment wet with tears, and torn, 
And trampled on, yet all untamed; 
All naked now, yet not ashamed, — 
The mistress of the young world's prime, 
Whose obelisks still laugh at Time, 
And lift to heaven her fair name, 
Sleeps satisfied upon her fame. 

Beyond the Sphinx, and still beyond, 
Beyond the tawny desert-tomb 



12 6 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Of Time ; beyond tradition, loom 
And lift ghostlike from out the gloom 
Her thousand cities, battle-torn 
And gray with story and with time. 
Her very ruins are sublime. 
Her thrones with mosses overborne 
Make velvets for the feet of Time. 

She points a hand and cries : " Go read 
The letter'd obelisks that lord 
Old Rome, and know my name and deed. 
My archives these, and plundered when 
I had grown weary of all men." 
We turn to these ; we cry : " Abhorr'd 
Old Sphinx, behold, we cannot read ! '* 

And yet my dried-up desert sea 
Was populous with blowing sail, 
And set with city, white-wall'd town. 
All mann'd with armies bright with mail, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 127 

Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down 
To gaze into eternity, 
Or Egypt knew her natal hour, 
Or Africa had name or power. 



128 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



xxiir. 

Away upon the sandy seas, 
The gleaming, burning, boundless plain. 
How solemn-like, how still, as when 
The mighty-minded Genoese 
Drew three tall ships and led his men 
From land they might not meet again. 

The black men rode in front by two, 
The fair one foUow'd close, and kept 
Her face held down as if she wept ; 
But Morgan kept the rear, and threw 
His flowing, swaying beard aback 
Anon along their lonesome track. 

They rode against the level sun, 
And spake not he or any one. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 129 

The weary day fell down to rest, 
A star upon his mantled breast, 
Ere scarce the sun fell out of space, 
And Venus glimmer'd in his place. 

Yea, all the stars shone just as fair, 

And constellations kept their round. 

And look'd from out the great profound. 

And marched, and countermarch'd, and shone 

Upon that desolation there, 

Why just the same as if proud man 

Strode up and down array'd in gold 

And purple as in days of old. 

And reckoned all of his own plan, 

Or made at least for man alone 

And man's dominion from a throne. 

Yet on push'd Morgan silently. 
And straight as strong ship on a sea ; 
And ever as he rode there lay 
6* I 



130 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

To right, to left, and in his way, 
Strange objects looming in the dark, 
Some like a mast, or ark, or bark. 

And things half hidden in the sand 
Lay down before them where they pass'd, — 
A broken beam, half-buried mast, 
A spar or bar, such as might be 
Blown crosswise, tumbled on the strand 
Of some sail-crowded stormy sea. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 131 



XXIV. 

All night by moon, by morning star, 
The still, black men still kept their way ; 
All night till morn, till burning day, 
Hot Vasques foUow'd fast and far. 

The sun shot arrows instantly ; 
And men turn'd east against the sun, 
And men did look and cry, " The sea ! '* 
And Morgan look'd, nay, every one 
Did look, and lift his hand, and shade 
His brow and look, and look dismay'd. 

Lo ! looming up before the sun, 
Before their eyes, yet far away, 
A ship with many a tall mast lay,— 
Lay resting, as if she harl rnn 



132 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Some splendid race through seas, and won 
The right to rest in salt flood bay, — 
And la}^ until the level sun 
Uprose, and then she fell away. 
As mists melt in the full of day. 

Old Morgan lifts his bony hand, 
He does not speak or make command, ^ 
Short time for wonder, doubt, delay ; 
Dark objects sudden heave in sight 
As if blown out or born of night. 
It is enough, they turn ; away I 

The sun is high, the sands are hot 
To touch, and all the tawny plain. 
That glistens white with salt sea sand, 
Sinks white and open as they tread 
And trudge, with half-averted head, 
As if to swallow them amain. 
They look, as men look back to land 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 133 

WJien standing out to stormy sea, 
But still keep face and murmur not ; 
Keep stern and still as destiny, 
Or iron king of Germany. 

It was a sight ! A slim dog slid 
White -moutli'd and still along the sand. 
The pleading picture of distress. 
He stopp'd, leap'd up to lick a hand, 
A hard black hand that sudden chid 
Him back and check'd his tenderness ; 
But when the black man turn'd his head 
His poor mute friend had fallen dead. 

The very air hung white with heat, 
And white, and fair, and far away 
A lifted, shining snow-shaft lay 
As if to mock their mad retreat. 

The white, salt sands beneath their feet 



134 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Did make the black men loom as grand, 
From out the lifting, heaving heat. 
As they rode sternly on and on, 
As any bronze men in the land 
That sit their statue steeds upon. 

The men were silent as men dead. 
The sun hung centred overhead. 
Nor seem'd to move. It molten hung 
Like some great central burner swung 
From lofty beams with golden bars 
In sacristy set round with stars. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 135 



XXV. 

Why, flame could hardly be more hot ; 
Yet on the mad pursuer came, 
Across the gleaming yieldmg ground, 
Right on, as if he fed on flame. 
Right on until the mid-day found 
The man within a pistol-shot. 

He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not, 
He hail'd, then came a feeble shot. 
And strangely, in that vastness there, 
It seem'd to scarcely fret the air. 
But fell down harmless anywhere. 

He fiercely hail'd ; and then there fell 
A horse. And then a man fell down. 
And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown. 



136 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tell 
The sound of his own voice, and all 
In mad confusion seem'd to fall. 

Yet on push'd Morgan, silent on, 
And as he rode he lean'd and drew, 
From his catenas, gold, and threw 
The bright coins in the glaring sun. 
But Vasques did not heed a whit, 
He scarcely deign'd to scowl at it. 

Again lean'd Morgan ! He uprose, 
And held a high hand to his foes, 
And held two goblets up, and one 
Did shine as if itself a sun. 

Then leaning backward from his place, 
He hurl'd them in his foemen's face, 
Then drew again, and so kept on. 
Till goblets, gold, and all were gone. 



FHE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 137 

Yea, strew'd tliem out upon the sands 
As men upon a frosty morn, 
In Mississippi's fertile lands. 
Hurl out great, yellow ears of corn 
To hungry swine with hurried hands, 



138 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



XXVI. 

Lo ! still hot Vasques urges on, 
With flashing eye and flushing cheek. 
What would he have ? what does he seek ? 
He does not heed the gold a whit, 
He does not deign to look at it ; 
But now his gleaming steel is drawn, 
And now he leans, would hail again, — 
He opes his swollen lips in vain. 

But look you ! See ! A lifted hand, 
And Vasques beckons his command. 
He cannot speak, he leans, and he 
Bends low upon his saddle-bow. 
And now his blade drops to his knee, 
And now he falters, now comes on. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 139 

And now his head is bended low ; 
iAnd now his rein, his steel, is gone ; 
!Kow faint as any child is he, 
|And now his steed sinks to the knee. 



i 



I40 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 



xxvn. 

The sun hung molten in mid space, 
Like some great star fix'd in its place. 
From out the gleaming spaces rose 
A sheen of gossamer and danced, 
As Morgan slow and still advanced 
Before his far-receding foes. 

Right on and on the still black line 
Drove straight through gleaming sand nnd 

shine, 
By spar and beam and mast and stray, 
And waif of sea and cast-away. 

The far peaks faded from their sight. 
The mountain walls fell down like night, 
And nothing now was to be seen 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 141 

Save but the dim sun hung in sheen 
Of fairy garments all blood-red, — 
The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead. 

' A black man tumbled from his steed. 
He clutch'd in death the moving sands. 
He caught the round earth in his hands, 
He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim. . . • 
The great sad mother did not heed 
His hold, but pass'd right on from him, 
And ere he died grew far and dim. 



142 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 



XXVIII. 

The sun seem'd broken loose at last, 
And settled slowly to the west, 
Half hidden as he fell a-rest, \ 

Yet, like the flying Parthian, cast 
His keenest arrows as he pass'd. 

On, on, the black men slowly drew i 

Their length, like some great serpent through i 
The sands, and left a hollow'd groove : 
They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move. \ 
How patient in their muffled tread ! 
How like the dead march of the dead I 

At last the slow black line was check 'd, 
An instant only ; now again 
It moved, it falter 'd now, and now 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 143 

I It settled in its sandy bed, 
And steeds stood rooted to the plain. 
Then all stood still, and men somehow 
Look'd down and with averted head ; 
Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'd 
Of any thing, of ill or good. 
But bowed and stricken still they stood. 

Like some brave band that dared the fierce 
And bristled steel of gather'd host. 
These daring men had dared to pierce 
This awful vastness, dead and OTav. 
And now at last brougjht well at bav 
They stood, — but each stood to his post ; 
Each man an unencompassed host. 

Then one dismounted, waved a hand, 
'Twas Morgan's stern and still command. 
There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain. 
And men dismounting loosed the rein. 



144 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Then every steed stood loosed and free ; 
And some stepp'd slow and mute aside, 
And some sank to the sands and died. 
And some stood still as shadows be, 
And men stood gazing silently. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 145 



XXIX. 

Old Morgan turn'd and raised his hand, 
And laid it level with his eyes, 
And look'd far back along the land. 
He saw a dark dust still uprise, 
Still surely tend to where he lay. 
He did not curse, he did not say. 
He did not even look surprise. 
But silent turned to her his eyes. 

Nay, he was over-gentle now, 
He wiped a time his Titan brow, 
Then sought dark Tna in her place, 
Put out his arms, put down his face 
And look'd in hers. 

She reach'd her hands, 
She lean'd, she fell upon his breast ; 



146 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

He reach'd his arms around ; she lay 
As lies a bird in leafy nest. 
And he look'd out across the sands, 
And then his face fell down, he smiled, 
And softly said, " My child, my child ! " 
Then bent his head and strode away. 

And as he strode he turn'd his head 
He sidewise cast his brief commands ; 
He led right on across the sands. 
They rose and foUow'd where he led 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 147 



XXX. 

'TwAS so like night, the sun was dim, 
Some black men settled down to rest, 
But none made murmur or request. 
The dead were dead, and that were best ; 
The living leaning folio w'd him, 
In huddled heaps, half nude, and grim. 

The day through high mid-heaven rode 
Across the sky, the dim red day ; 
A west the warlike day-god strode 
With shoulder'd shield away, away. 

The savage, warlike day bent low, 
As reapers bend in gathering grain. 
As archer bending bends yew bow, 
And flush'd and fretted as in pain. 



i4S THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Then down his shoulder slid his shield, 
So huge, so awful, so blood-red 
And batter'd as from battle-field : 
It settled, sunk to his left hand, 
Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand, 
Then day along the land lay dead, 
Without one candle at his head. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 149 



XXXI. 

And now the moon wheel'd white and vast, 
A round, unbroken, marbled moon, 
And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow, 
Then climb'd their shoulders over soon ; 
And there she seem'd to sit at last, 
To hang, to hover there, to grow, 
Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow. 

Grow whiter than the snow's own breast, 
Grow softer than September's noon. 
Until the snow-peaks seem'd at best 
But one wide, shining, shatter'd moon. 

She sat the battlements of time ; 
She shone in mail of frost and rime. 



,150 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

A time, and then rose up and stood 

In heaven in sad widowhood. 

• •••••• 

The faded moon fell wearily, 
And then the sun right suddenly 
Eose up full arm'd, and rushing came 
Across the land like flood of flame. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 151 



XXXII. 

The sun roll'd on. Lo ! hills uprose 
As push'd against the arching skies, — 
As if to meet the timid sun — 
Rose sharp from out the sultry dun, 
Set well with wood, and brier, and rose, 
And seem'd to hold the free repose 
Of lands where rocky summits rise. 
Or unfenced fields of Paradise. 

The black men look'd up from the sands 
Against the dim, uncertain skies, 
As men that disbelieved their eyes, 
And would have laugh'd ; they wept in- 
stead. 
With shoulders heaved, with bowing head 
Hid down between their two black hands. 



IS? THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

They stood and gazed. Lo ! like the call 
Of spring-time promises, the trees 
Lean'd from their lifted mountain wall, 
And stood clear cut against the skies 
As if they grew in pistol-shot. 
Yet all the mountains answer 'd not, 
And yet there came no cooling breeze. 
Nor soothing sense of windy trees. 

At last old Morgan, looking through 
His shaded fingers, let them go, 
And let his load fall down as dead. 
He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snow 
As was his wont, then bowing low, 
Took up his life, and moaning said, 
"Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and we 
Stand blinded in a burning sea." 

O sweet deceit when minds despair I 
O mad deceit of man betray'd ! 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 153 

O mother Nature, thou art fair, 
But thou art false as man or maid. 

Yea, many lessons, mother Earth, 
Have we thy children learn' d of thee 
In sweet deceit. . . . The sudden birth 
Of hope that dies mocks destiny. 

O mother Earth, thy promises 
Are fallen leaves ; they lie forgot ! 
Such lessons ! How could we learn less? 
We are but children, blame us not. 



7* 



ii4 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



XXXIII. 

Again they move, but where or how 
It recks them little, nothing now. 
Yet Morgan leads them as before, 
But totters now ; he bends, and he 
Is like a broken ship a-sea, — 
A ship that knows not any shore. 
And knows it shall not anchor more. 

Some leaning shadows crooning crept 
Through desolation, crown'd in dust. 
And had the mad pursuer kept 
His path, and cherished his pursuit ? 
There lay no choice. Advance he must : 
Advance, and eat his ashen fruit. 



Yet on and on old Morgan led. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT ISS 

His black men totter'd to and fro, 
A leaning, huddled heap of woe ; 
Then one fell down, then two fell dead ; 
Yet not one moaning word was said. 

They made no sign, they said no word, 
Nor lifted once black, helpless hands ; 
And all the time no sound was heard 
Save but the dull, dead, muffled tread 
Of shuffled feet in shining sands. 

Asrain the still moon rose and stood 
Above the dim, dark belt of wood, , 
Above the buttes, above the snow. 
And bent a sad, sweet face below. 

She reach'd along the level plain 
Her long, white fingers. Then again 
She reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands. 
Then reach'd far out until she touch'd 



rS6 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

A heap that lay with doubled hands, 
Reach'd from its sable self, and cliitch'd 
With death. 

O tenderly 
That black, that dead and hollow face 
Was kiss'd at midnight. . . . 

What if I say 
The long, white moonbeams reaching there, 
Caressing idle hands of clay, 
And resting on the wrinkled hair 
And great lips push'd in sullen pout, 
Were God's own fingers reaching out 
From heaven to that lonesome place ? 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 157 



xxxrv. 

By waif and stray and cast-away, 
Such as are seen in seas withdrawn, 
Old Morgan led in silence on, 
And sometime lifting up his head 
To guide his footsteps as he led, 
He deem'd he saw a great ship lay 
Her keel along the sea-wash'd sand. 
As with her captain's old command. 
• ••••••• 

The stars were seal'd ; and then a haze 
Of gossamer fill'd all the west, 
So like in Indian summer days. 
And veil'd all things. 

And then the moon 
Grew pale, and faint, and far. She died. 



158 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 

And now nor star nor any sign 
Fell out of heaven. 

Oversoon 
Some black men fell. Then at their side 
Some one sat down to watch, to rest . . • 
To rest, to watch, or what you will, 
The man sits resting, watching still. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 159 



XXXV. 

The day glared through the eastern rim 
Of rocky peaks, as prison bars ; 
With light as dim as distant stars 
The sultry sunbeams filter'd down 
Through mist}^ phantoms weird and dim, 
Through shifting shapes bat-wing'd and 
brown. 

Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flame 
The sun fell down before them now. 
Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow, 
As they proceeded. 

Gray and grim 
And awful objects went and came 
Before them then. They pierced at last 



i6o THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

The desert's middle depths, and lo ! 
There loom'd from out the desert vast 
A lonely ship, well-built and trim, 
And perfect all in hull and mast. 

No storm had stain'd it an}^ whit. 
No seasons set their teeth in it. 
Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall ; 
Her decks were as of yesterday. 
The rains, the elements, and all 
The moving things that bring decay 
By fair green lands or fairer seas. 
Had touch'd not here for centuries. 

Lo ! date had lost all reckoning, 
And Time had long forgotten all 
In this lost land, and no new thing 
Or old could anywise befall, 
Or morrows, or a yesterday. 
For Time went by the other way. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. i6i 

The ages have not any course 
Across this untrack'd waste. 

The sky 
Wears here one blue, unbending hue, 
The heavens one unchanging mood. 
The far still stars they filter through 
The heavens, falling bright and bold 
Against the sands as beams of gold. 
The wide, white moon forgets her force ; 
The very sun rides round and high. 
As if to shun this solitude. 

What dreams of gold or conquest drew 
The oak-built sea-king to these seas. 
Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied. 
Rose up and shook man in disgust 
From off her wearied breast, and threw 
And smote his cities down, and dried 
These measured, town-set seas to dust ? 
Who trod these decks ? 

K 



1 62 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

What captain knew 
The straits that led to lands like these ? 

Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze ? 
What spiced winds whistled through this sail ? 
What banners stream'd above these seas ? 
And what strange seaman answer'd back 
To other sea-king's beck and hail, 
That blew across his foamy track I 

Sought Jason here the golden fleece ? 
Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece ? 
Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind, 
Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind ? 
So like a grand, sweet woman, when 
A sfreat love moves her soul to men ? 



&' 



Came here strong ships of Solomon 
In quest of Ophir by Cathay ? . . . 
Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 163 

And every sea-breath drawn away. . . • 
Sit down, sit down ! 

What is the good 
That we go on still fashioning 
Great iron ships or walls of wood, 
High masts of oak, or any thing ? 

Lo ! all things moving must go by. 
The sea lies dead. Behold, this land 
Sits desolate in dust beside 
His snow-white, seamless shroud of sand ; 
The very clouds have wept and died, 
And only God is in the sky. 



1 64 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 



XXXVI. 

The sands lay heaved, as heaved by waves, 
As fashion'd in a thousand graves : 
And wrecks of storm blown here and there, 
And dead men scatter'd everywhere ; 
And strangely clad they seem'd to be 
Just as they sank in that old sea. 

The mermaid with her splendid hair 
Had clung about a wreck's beam there ; 
And sung her song of sweet despair, 
The time she saw the seas withdrawn 
And all her home and glory gone : 

Had sung her melancholy dirge, 
Above the last receding surge, 
And, looking down the rippled tide. 
Had sung, and with her song had died. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 165 

The monsters of the sea lay bound 
In strange contortions. Coil'd around 
A mast half heaved above the sand, 
The great sea-serpent's folds were found, 
As solid as ship's iron band. 
And basking in the burning sun 
There rose the great whale's skeleton. 

A thousand sea things stretch'd across 
Their weary and bewilder'd way : 
Great unnamed monsters wrinkled lay 
With sunken eyes and shrunken form. 
The strong sea-horse that rode the storm 
With mane as light and white as floss, 
Lay tangled in his mane of moss. 

And anchor, hull, and cast-away, 
And all things that the miser deep 
Doth in his darkling locker keep. 
To right and left around them lay. 



i66 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Yea, coins lay there on either hand, 
Lay shining in the silver sand ; 
As plenty in the wide sands lay 
As stars along the Milky Way. 

And golden coin, and polden cup, 
And golden cruse, and golden plate, 
And all that great seas swallow up. 
Right in their dreadful pathway lay. . . 
The hungry and insatiate 
Old sea, made hoary vv^hite with time, 
And wrinkled cross with many a crime. 
With all his treasured thefts was there, 
His sins, his very soul laid bare, 
As if it were the Judgment Day. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 167 



XXXYIl. 

.A.ND now the tawny night fell soon, 
/jnd there was neither star nor moon ; 
And yet it seem'd it was not night. 
There fell a phosphorescent light, 
There rose from white sands and dead 

men 
k. soft light, white and fair as when 
The Spirit of Jehovah moved 
Upon the water's conscious face, 
And made it His abiding-place. 

O mighty waters unreproved ! 
Thou deep ! where the Jehovah moved 
Ere soul of man was called to be ! 



1 68 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

O seas ! that were created not 
As man, as earth, as light, as aught 
That is. O sea ! thou art to me 
A terror, death, eternity. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 169 



XXXVIIL 

I DO recall some sad days spent, 
By borders of the Orient, 
Days sweet as sad to memory . . . 
'T would make a tale. It matters not . • < 
I sought the loneliest seas ; I sought 
The solitude of ruins, and forgot 
Mine own lone life and littleness 
Before this fair land's mute distress, 
That sat within this changeful sea. 

Slow sailing through the reedy isles. 
By unknown banks, through unknown 

bays. 
Some sunny, summer yesterdays, 
8 



170 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Where Nature's beauty still beguiles, 
I saw the storied yellow sail 
And lifted prow of steely mail. 
'Tis all that's left Torcello now, — 
A pirate's yellow sail, a prow. 

Below the far, faint peaks of snow. 
And grass-grown causeways well below, 
I touched Torcello. 

Once a-land, 
I took a sea-shell in my hand, 
And blew like any trumpeter. 
I felt the fio^-leaves lift and stir 
On trees that reached from ruined wall 
Above my head, but that was all. 
Back from the farther island shore 
Came echoes trooping ; nothing more. 

Lo ! here stood Adria once, and here 
Attila came with sword and flame. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 171 

And set his throne of hollowed stone 
In her high mart. 

And it remains 
Still lord o'er all. Where once the tears 
Of mute petition fell, the rains 
Of heaven fall. Lo ! all alone 
There lifts this massive empty throne ! 
The sea has changed his meed, his mood. 
And made this sedgy solitude. 

By cattle paths grass-grown and worn. 
Through marbled streets all stain'd and 

torn 
By time and battle, there I walked. 
A bent old beggar, white as one 
For better fruitage blossoming, 
Came on. And as he came he talked 
Unto himself; for there are none 
In all his island, old and dim, 
To answer back or question him. 



172 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

I turned, retraced my steps once more. 
The hot miasma steamed and rose 
In deadly vapor from the reeds 
That grew from out the shallow shore, 
Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds, 
And Neptune shapes his horn and blows. 

I climb'd and sat that throne of stone 
To contemplate, to dream, to reign ; 
Ay, reign above myself ; to call 
The people of the past again 
Before me as I sat alone 
In all my kingdom. 

There were kine 
That browsed along the reedy brine, 
And now and then a tusky boar 
Would shake the high reeds of the shore, 
A bii'd blow by, — but that was all. 

I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 173 

1 did remember and forget ; 
llie past rolled by ; I stood alone. 
I sat the shapely chiselled stone 
That stands in tall sweet grasses set ; 
Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass, 
And green Alfalfa. 

Very fair 
The heavens were, and still and blue, 
For Nature knows no changes there. 
The Alps of Venice, far away 
Like some half-risen half moon lay. 

How sweet the grasses at my feet ! 
The smell of clover over sweet. 
I heard the hum of bees. The bloom 
Of clover-tops and cherry-trees 
Were being rifled by the bees, 
And these were building in a tomb. 

The fair Alfalfa ; such as has 



174 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Usurped the Occident, and grows 
With all the sweetness of the rose 
On Sacramento's sundown hills, 
Is there, and that mid island fills 
With fragrance. Yet the smell of death 
Comes riding in on every breath. 

Lo ! death that is not death, but rest : 
To step aside, to watch and wait 
Beside the wave, outside the gate. 
With all life's pulses in your breast : 
To absolutely rest, to pray 
In some lone mountain while you may. 

That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense, 
And sound, and voice. It was a part 
Of that which had possessed my heart. 
And would not of my will go hence. 
'Twas Autumn's breath ; 'twas dear as kiss 
Of any worshipped woman is. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 175 

Some snails have climb'd the throne and writ 
Their silver monograms on it 
In unknown tongues. 

I sat thereon, 
I dreamed until the day was gone ; 
I blew again my pearly shell, — 
Blew long and strong, and loud and well 
I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as when 
Horn'd satyrs danced the delight of men. 

Some mouse-brown cows that fed within 
Looked up. A cowherd rose hard by. 
My single subject, clad in skin. 
Nor yet half clad. I caught his eye, 
He stared at me, then turned and fled. 
He frightened fled, and as he ran, 
Like wild beast from the face of man, 
Across his shoulder threw his head. 
He gathered up his skin of goat 
About his breast and hairy throat. 



176 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

He stopped, and then this subject true, 
Mine only one in lands like these 
Made desolate by changeful seas, 
Came back and asked me for a sou* 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT i77 



XXXIX. 

And yet again through the watery miles 
Of reeds I rowed till the desolate isles 
Of the black bead-makers of Venice are not. 
I touched where a single sharp tower is shot 
To heaven, and torn by thunder and rent 
As if it had been Time's battlement. 
A city lies dead, and this great gravestone 
Stands at its head like a ghost alone. 

Some cherry-trees grow here, and here 

An old church, simple and severe 

In ancient aspect, stands alone 

Amid the ruin and decay, all grown 

In moss and grasses. 

Old and quaint. 

With antique cuts of martyr'd saint, 
8* J. 



178 THE SHIP JN THE DESERT, 

The gray church stands with stooping knees, 
Defying the decay of seas. 

Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high, 
In bright mosaics wrought and set 
When man first knew the Nubian art, 
Her bearded saints, as black as jet ; 
Her quaint Madonna, dim with rain 
And touch of pious lips of pain. 
So touched my lonesome soul, that I 
Gazed long, then came and gazed again. 
And loved, and took her to my heart. 

Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin, 
Nor priest of any creed was seen. 
A sun-browned woman, old and tall, 
And still as any shadow is. 
Stole forth from out the mossy wall 
With massive keys to show me this : 
Came slowly forth, and following. 
Three birds — and all with drooping wing. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 179 

Three mute brown babes of hers ; and they — 
O, they were beautiful as sleep, 
Or death, below the troubled deep. 
And on the pouting lips of these 
Red corals of the silent seas, 
Sweet birds, the everlasting seal 
Of silence that the God has set 
On this dead island, sits for aye. 

I would forget, yet not forget 
Their helpless eloquence. They creep 
Somehow into my heart, and keep 
One bleak, cold corner, jewel set. 
They steal my better self away 
To them, as little birds that day 
Stole fruits from out the cherry-trees. 

So helpless and so wholly still, 
So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise, 
That I did love, despite my will. 



i8o THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

One little maid of ten, — such eyes, 
So large and lonely, so divine, — 
Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek, — 
Did lift her perfect eyes to mine. 
Until our souls did touch and speak ; 
Stood by me all that perfect day, 
Yet not one sweet word could she say. 

She turned her melancholy eyes 
So constant to my own, that I 
Forgot the going clouds, the sky, 
Found fellowship, took bread and wine, 
And so her little soul and mine 
Stood very near together there. 
And O, I found her very fair. 
Yet not one soft word could she say : 
What did she think of all that day ? 

The sometime song of gondolier 
Is heard afar. The fishermen 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. i8i 

Betimes draw net by ruined shore, 
In full spring time when east winds fall ; 
Then traders row with muffled oar, 
Tedesca or the turban'd Turk, 
The pirate, at some midnight work 
By watery wall, — but that is all. 



t82 the ship in the DESERT. 



XI- 

Remote, around the lonesome ship, 
Old Morgan moved, but knew it not, 
For neither star nor moon fell down . . . 
I trow that was a lonesome spot 
He found, where boat and ship did dip 
In sands like some half-sunken town. 
And all things rose bat-winged and brown. 

At last before the leader lay 
A form that in the night did seem 
A slain Goliath. 

As in a dream, 
He drew aside in his slow pace. 
And look'd. He saw a sable face, 
A friend that fell that very day. 
Thrown straight across his wearied way. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. i\ 3 

He falter'd now. His iron heart, 
That never yet refused its part, 
Began to fail him ; and his strength 
Shook at his knees, as shakes the wind 
A shatter'd ship. 

His scatter'd mind 
Ranged up and down the land. At length 
He turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss\l, 
For now he knew that he was lost, 
And sought in vain the moon, the stars. 
In vain the battle-star of Mars. 

Again he moved. And now again 
He paused, he peer'd along the plain, 
Another form before him lay. 
He stood, and statue-white he stood, 
He trembled like a stormy wood, — 
It was a foeman brown and gray. 

He lifted up his head again, 



lU THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

Again he search'd the great profound 
For moon, for star, but sought in vain. 
He kept his circle round and round ; 
The great ship lifting from the sand 
And pointing heavenward like a hand. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 185 



XLL 

And still he crept along the plain, 
Yet where his foeman dead again 
Lay in his way he moved around, 
And soft as if on sacred ground, 
And did not touch him anywhere. 
It might have been he had a dread, 
In his half-crazed and fever'd brain. 
His mortal foe might wake again 
If he should dare to touch him there. 

He circled round the lonesome ship 
Like some wild beast within a wall, 
That keeps his paces round and round. 
The very stillness had a sound ; 
He saw strange somethings rise and dip ; 



i86 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

He felt the weirdness like a pall 
Come down and cover him. 

It seem'd 
To take a form, take many forms, 
To talk to him, to reach out arms ; 
Yet on he kept, and silent kept, 
And as he led he lean'd and slept. 
And as he slept he talk'd and dream'd. 

Then shadows follow'd, stopp'd, and 
stood 
Bewildered, wandered back again. 
Came on and then fell to the sand 
And sinking- died. 

Then other men 
Did wag their woolly heads and laugh, 
Then bend their necks and seem to quaff 
Of cooling waves that careless flow 
Where woods and long strong grasses grow. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 187 

Yet on wound Morgan, leaning low, 
With head upon his breast, and slow 
As hand upon a dial plate. 
He did not turn his course or quail, 
He did not falter, did not fail, 
Turn right or left or hesitate. 

Some far-off sounds had lost their way, 
And seem'd to call to him and pray 
For help, as if they were affright. 
It was not day, it seem'd not night. 
But that dim land that lies between 
The mournful, faithful face of night 
And loud and gold-bedazzled day ; 
A night that was not felt but seen. 

There seem'd not then the ghost of sound. 
He stepp'd as soft as step the dead ; 
Yet on he led in solemn tread, 
Bewilder'd, blinded, round and round. 



i88 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

About the great black ship that rose 
Tall-masted as that ship that blows 
Her ghost below lost Panama, — 
The tallest mast man ever saw. 

Two leaning shadows followed him, 
Their eyes were red, their teeth shone white, 
Their limbs did lift as shadows SAvim. 
Then one went left and one went right, 
And in the night pass'd out of night ; 
Pass'd through the portals black, unknown, 
And Morgan totter'd on alone. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 189 



XLII. 

And why he still survived the rest, 
Why still he had the strength to stir, 
Why still he stood like gnarled oak 
That buffets storm and tempest stroke, 
One cannot say, save but for her, 
That helpless being on his breast ; 
At rest ; that would not let him rest. 

She did not speak, she did not stir ; 
In rippled currents over her 
Her black, abundant hair pour'd down 
Like mantle or some sable gown. 

That sad, sweet dreamer ; she who knew 
Not any thing of earth at all. 
Nor cared to know its bane or bliss ; 



190 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

That dove that did not touch the land, 
That knew, yet did not understand. 
And this may be because she drew 
Her all of life right from the hand 
Of God, and did not choose to learn 
The things that make up earth's concern. 

Ah ! there be souls none understand ; 
Like clouds, they cannot touch the land, 
Drive as they may by field or town. 
Then we look wise at this and frown. 
And we cry, " Fool," and cry, " Take hold 
Of earth, and fashion gods of gold." 

. . . Unanchor'd ships, they blow and blow, 
Sail to and fro, and then go down 
In unknown seas that none shall know, 
Without one ripple of renown. 
Poor drifting dreamers sailing by, 
They seem to only live to die. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 191 

CiiU these not fools ; the test of worth 
Is not the hold you have of earth. 
Lo ! there be gentlest souls sea-blown 
That know not any harbor known. 
Now it may be the reason is 
They touch on fairer shores than this. 



192 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 



XLIII. 

And dark-eyed Ina ? Nestled there. 
Half-hidden in her glorious hair, 
The while its midnight folds fell down 
From out his great arms nude and brown, 
She lay against his hairy breast, 
All motionless as death, below 
His great white beard like shroud, or snow, 
As if in everlasting rest. 

He totter'd side to side to keep 
Erect and keep his steady tread ; 
He lean'd, he bent to her his head . . . 
" She sleeps uncommon sound," he said, 
" As if in that eternal sleep. 
Where cool and watered willows sweep." 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 193 

At last he toucli'd a fallen group, 
Dead fellows tumbled in the sands, 
Dead foemen, gather'd to the dead. 
An 1 eager now the man did stoop, 
La^ down his load and reach his hands, 
And stretch his form and look steadfast 
And frightful, and as one aghast 
And ghostly from his hollow eyes. 
He lean'd and then he raised his head. 
And looked for Vasques, but in vain ; 
He laid his two great arms crosswise, 
Took breath a time with trembling main, 
Then peered again along the plain. 

Lo ! from the sands another face, 
The last that foUow'd through the deep. 
Comes on from out the lonesome place. 
And Vasques, too, survives I 

But where ? 
His last bold follower lies there, 

9 M 



194 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

Thrown straight across old Morgan's track, 

As if to check him, bid him back. 

He stands, he does not dare to stir, 

He watches by his child asleep. 

He fears, for her : but only her. 

The man w^ho ever mock'd at death, 

He hardl}^ dares to draw his breath. 

Beyond, and still as black despair, 
A man rose up, stood dark and tall, 
Stretch'd out his neck, reach'd forth, let fall 
Dark oaths, and Death stood waiting there. 

He drew his blade, came straight as death 
Right up before the follower. 
The last of Morgan's sable men. 
While Morgan watched aside by her, 
And saw his foeman wag his beard 
And fiercest visage ever seen. 
The while that dead man lay between. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 195 

I think no man there drew a breath, 
I know that no man quail'd or fear'd. 

The tawny dead man stretch'd between, 
And Vasques set his foot thereoi:^. 
The stars were seal'd, the moon was gone. 
The very darkness cast a shade. 
The scene was rather heard than seen, 
The rattle of a single blade. . . . 

A right foot rested on the dead, 
A black hand reach'd and clutch'd a beard. 
Then neither prayed, nor dreamed of hope . . . 
A fierce face reach'd, a fierce face peer'd . . , 
No bat went whirling overhead, 
No star fell out of Ethiope. . . . 

The dead man lay between them there, 
The two men glared as tigers glare, 
The black man held him by the beard. 



196 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

He wound his hand, he held him fast, 
And tighter held, as if he fear'd 
The man might 'scape him at the last. 
Whiles Morgan did not speak or stir, 
But stood in silent watch by her. 

Not long. ... A light blade lifted, thrust, 
A blade that leapt and swept about. 
So wizard-like, like wand in spell. 
So like a serpent's tongue thrust out . . . 
Thrust twice, thrust thrice, thrust as he fell, 
Thrust through until it touch'd the dust. 

Yet ever as he thrust and smote, 
The black hand like an iron band 
Did tighten to the gasping throat. 
He fell, but did not loose his hand ; 
The two fell dead upon the sand. 

Lo I up and from the fallen forms 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 197 

Two ghosts came forth like cloud of storms. 
Two tall ghosts stood, and looking back, 
With hands all bloody, and hands clutch'd, 
Strode on together, till they touch'd. 
Along the lonesome, chartless track, 
Where dim Plutonian darkness fell. 
Then touch'd the outer rim of hell. 
And looking back their great despair 
Sat sadly down as resting there. 



198 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 



XLIV. 

Perchance there was a strength in death ; 
The scene it seem'd to nerve the man 
To superhuman strength. He rose, 
Held up his head, began to scan 
The heavens and to take his breath 
Right strong and lustily. He now 
Resumed his load, and with his eye 
Fixed on a star that filtered through 
The farther west, pushed bare his brow, 
And kept his course with head held high, 
As if he strode his deck and drew 
His keel below some lifted light 
That watched the rocky reef at night. 

How lone he was, how patient she, 
Upon that lonesome sandy sea I 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT 199 

It were a sad, unpleasant sight 
To follow them through all the night. 
Until the time they lifted hand, 
And touched at last a watered land. 

The turkeys walked the tangled grass, 
And scarcely turned to let them pass. 
There was no sign of man, or sign 
Of savage beast. 'Twas so divine. 
It seem'd as if the bended skies 
Were rounded for this Paradise. 

The large-eyed antelope came down 
From off their windy hills, and blew 
Their whistles as they wandered through 
The open groves of watered wood ; 
Then came as light as if a-wing. 
And reached their noses wet and brown. 
And stamped their little feet, and stood 
Close up before them wondering. 



200 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

What if this were the Eden true, 
They found in far heart of the new 
And unnamed westmost workl I sing, 
Where date and history had birth, 
And man first 'gan his wandering 
To go the girdles of the earth ! 

It hes a httle isle mid land, 
An island in a sea of sand ; 
With reedy waters and the balm 
Of an eternal summer air. 
Some blowy pines toss tall and fair ; 
And there are grasses long and strong, 
And tropic fruits that never fail : 
The Manzinetta pulp, the palm, 
The prickly pear, with all the song 
Of summer birds. 

And there the quail 
Makes nest, and 3^ou ma}- hear her call 
All day from out the chaparral. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 20 J 

A land where white man never trod, 
And Morgan seems some demi-god, 
That haunts the red man's spirit land. 
A land where never red man's hand 
Is lifted np in strife at all. 
He holds it sacred unto those 
Who bravely fell before their foes, 
And rarely dares its desert wall. 

Here breaks nor sound of strife or sign ; 
Rare times a red man comes this way, 
Alone, and battle-scarred and gray. 
And then he bends devout before 
The maid who keeps the cabin door. 
And deems her sacred and divine. 

Within the island's heart, 'tis said, 

Tall trees are bending down with bread, 

And that a fountain pure as truth, 

And deep and mossy bound and fair. 

Is bubbling from the forest there, — 

Perchance the fabled fount of youth ! 
9* 



202 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 

An isle where never cares betide ; 
Where solitude comes not, and where 
The soul is ever satisfied. 
An isle where skies are ever fair, 
Where men keep never date nor day, 
Where Time has thrown his glass away 

This isle is all their own. No more 
The flight by day, the watch by night. 
Dark Ina twines about the door 
The scarlet blooms, the blossoms white, 
And winds red berries in her hair. 
And never knows the name of care. 

She has a thousand birds ; they blow 
In rainbow clouds, in clouds of snow ; 
The birds take berries from her hand ; 
They come and go at her command. 

She has a thousand pretty birds, 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 203 

That sing her summer songs all day ; 
Small black-hoofed antelope in herds, 
And squirrels bushy-tail'd and gray, 
With round and sparkling eyes of pink. 
And cunning-faced as you can think. 

She has a thousand busy birds ; 
And is she happy in her isle. 
With all her feathered friends and herds ? 
For when has Morgan seen her smile ? 

She has a thousand cunning birds, 
They would build nestings in her hair ; 
She has brown antelope in herds ; 
She never knows the name of care ; 
Why then is she not happy there ? 

All patiently she bears her part ; 
She has a thousand birdlings there, 
These birds they would build in her hair ; 
But not one bird builds in her heart. 



204 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 

She has a thousand birds ; yet she 
Would give ten thousand cheerfully, 
All bright of plume and loud of tongue, 
And sweet as ever trilled or sung, 
For one small fluttered bird to come 
And sit within her heart, though dumb. 

She has a thousand birds ; yet one 
Is lost, and, lo ! she is undone. 
She sighs sometimes. She looks away. 
And yet she does not weep or say. 

She has a thousand birds. The skies 
Are fashioned for her paradise ; 
A very queen of fairy land. 
With all earth's fruitage at command. 
And yet she does not lift her eyes. 
She sits upon the water's brink 
As mournful soul'd as you can think. 



THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 205 

She has a thousand birds ; and yet 
She will look downward, nor forget 
The fluttered white- winged turtle dove, 
The changeful-throated birdling, love, 
That came, that sang through tropic trees, 
Then flew for aye across the seas. 

The waters kiss her feet ; above 
Her head the trees are blossoming, 
And fragrant with eternal spring. 
Her birds, her antelope are there, 
Her birds they would build in her hair ; 
She only waits her birdling, love. 
She turns, she looks along the plain. 
Imploring love to come again. 



SONGS OF ITALY 




SONGS OF ITALY. 



-ooJO^o 



ROME. 




I. 

OME levelled hills, a wall, a dome 
That lords its gilded arch and 

lies, 
While at its base a beggar cries 
For bread, and dies, — and that is 

Rome. 



n. 



Yet Rome is Rome ; and Rome she must 
And shall remain beside her gates. 
And tribute take of kings and States, 
Until the stars have fallen to dust. 



12 SOJVGS OF ITALY. 



m. 



Yea, Time on yon campagnian plain 
Has pitched in siege his battle tents ; 
And round about her battlements 
Has marclied and trumpeted in vain. 



IV. 



These skies are Rome ! The very loam 
Lifts up and speaks in Roman pride ; 
And Time, outfaced and still defied, 
Sits by and wags his beard at Rome, 



Rome, 1873. 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 13, 



A DOVE OF SAINT MARK. 



I. 

^ I ^HE high-born beautiful snow came down, 

Silent and soft as the terrible feet 
Of Time on the mosses of ruins. Sweet 
Was the Christmas time in the watery town. 
'Twas a kind of carnival swelled the sea 
Of Venice that night, and canal and quay 
Were alive with humanity. Man and maid, 
Glad in their revel and masquerade. 
Moved through the feathery snow in the night. 
And shook black locks as they laughed out- 
right. 



14 SONGS OF ITALY. 

11, 

From Santa Maggiore, and to and fro, 
And ugly and black as if devils cast out, 
Black streaks through the night in the soft, white 

snow, 
The steel-prowed gondolas paddled about : 
There was only the sound of the long oars' dip, 
As the low moon sailed up the sea like a ship 
In a misty morn. Then the low moon rose. 
Veiled and vast, through tlie feathery snows — 
And a poet sat pensive and still in his boat. 
His mantle held tight in his hand to his tliroat. 

ni. 
The dreamer arose as he drew to the land. 
Threw back his cloak, stood tall and grand. 
Then snapped his fingers right sharp as he leapt 
To the shore and turned from the quay, and kept 
His white brow wrinkled. He talked aloud 
To himself as he melted awa}^ with the crowd, 
And the feathery snows blew out of the town. 
Like a signal light through the night let down 
A far star fell through the dim profound, 
As a jewel that slipped God's hand to the ground. 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 15 

rv. 

" On the gray, smootli base of your columned 

stone, 
Grim old lion of grand St. Mark, 
I shall sit me down in your salt-flood town, 
While you sit lorded on your granite throne : 
Down under your wings on the edge of the sea 
In the dim of the lamps, on the rim of the dark, 
Alone and in crowds I shall sit me down. 
O King on your column, so sullenly, 
Wrinkle your brows and tumble your mane ! 
But the bride comes not to her spouse again. 

V. 

" Heavens ! how beautiful ! Up and down, 

Alone and in couples, they glide and they pass, 

Silent and dreamy, as if seen in a glass. 

And masked to the eyes, in their Adrian town. 

Such women ! It breaks one's heart to think. 

Water ! and never a drop to drink ! 

What types of Titian ! What glory of hair ! 

How tall as the sisters of Saul ! How fair ! 

Sweet flowers of flesh all blossoming. 

As if 'twere Eden and Eden's spring. 



l? SOA'GS OF ITALY. 

VI; 

'• They are talking aloud with all their eyes, 
Yet passing me by with never one word. 
O pouting sweet lips, do you know there are lies 
That are told with the eyes, and never once 

heard 
Above a heart's beat when the soul is stiri-ed ? 
It is time to fly home, O doves of St. Mark ! 
Take boughs of the olive ; bear these to your ark, 
And rest and be glad, for the seas and the skies 
Of Venice are fair. . . . What ! never a home ? 
What! stained and despised as the soiled sea- 
foam ? 

vn. 

" And who then are you ? You look so fair ! 
Your sweet child-face, as a rose half-blown, 
From under your black and abundant hair? . . . 
A child of the street, and unloved and alone ! 
Unloved and alone ? . . . There is somethinsr then 
Between us two that is not unlike ! . . . 
The strength and the purposes of inen 
Fall broken idols. We aim and strike 
With high-born zeal and with proud intent. 
Yet all things turn on an acciflent. 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 17 

vin. 

" Nay, I'll not preach. Time's lessons pass 
Like twilight's swallows. They chirp in their 

flight, 
And who takes heed of the wasting glass? 
Night follows day, and day follows night. 
And no thing rises on earth but to fall 
Like leaves, with their lessons most sad and fit. 
They are spread like a volume each year to all : 
Yet men nor women learn aught of it, 
Or after it all, but a weariness 
Of soul and body, and untold distress. 

IX. 

" Yea, sit, sweet child, by my side, and we — 

We will talk of the world. Nay, let my hand 

Run round your waist, and, so, let your face 

Fall down on my shoulder, and you shall be 

My dream of sweet Italy. Here in this place, 

Alone in the crowds of this old careless land, 

I will mantle your form till the moi'n, and 

then — 

Why, I shall return to the world and to men, 

And no whit stained for the one kind word 

Which only you and the night may have heard. 

2 



18 SONGS OF ITALY. 

X. 

" Fear nothing for me, for I shall not fear. 
The day, my darling, comes after the night. 
The nights they were made to show the light 

Of the stars in heaven, tho* storms are near 

Do yon see that figure of Fortune up there, 
That tops the Dogana with toe a-tip 
Of the great gold ball ? Her scroll is a-trip 
To the turning winds. She is light as the air. 
Well, trust to Fortune. Bread on the wave 
Turns ever ashore to the hand that gave. 

XI. 

" What am I ? who am I ? and what would 

I choose? 
Why, I am a poet — a lover of all 
That is lovely to see. . . . Nay, naught shall befall, 
For I would not choose what you should refuse. 
Yes, I am a failure. I plot and plan. 
Give splendid advice to my fellow-man, 
Yet ever fall short of achievement. . . . Ah me I 
In my life's early, sad afternoon. 
Say, what have I left but a love, or a rune, 
A hand reached out to a soul at sea. 
Or fair, forbidden, sweet fruit to choose, 
That 'twere sin to touch, and — sin to refuse ? 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 19 

xn. 

" What ! I to go home with you, girl, to-night ? 

To nestle you down and to call you love ? 

Well, that were a fancy I To feed a dove, 

A poor, soiled dove of this dear Saint Mark, 

Too frightened for rest and too weary for flight. 

Nay, nay, my sister ; in spite of you, 

Sister and tempter, I will be true. 

Lo ! here by the lion, alone in the dark, 

Side by side we two will sit here. 

Breathing the beauty as an atmosphere. 

xin. 

" We will talk of your poets, of their tales of 

love. 
What ! cannot read ? Why you never heard then 
Of your Desdemona, nor the daring men 
Who died for passion ? My poor white dove ! 
There's a story of Shylock that would drive you 

wild. — 
You never have heard of your poets, my child? 
Of Tasso, of Petrarch ? Not the Bridge of Sighs ? 
Nor the tale of Ferrara ? Nor the thousand whys 
That your Venice was ever adored above 
All other fair lands for her songs of love '? 



20 SONGS OF ITALY. 

XIV. 

"What then about Shylock? 'Twas gold — 

yes — dead. 
The lady? 'Twas love. Why, yes ; she too 
Is dead. And Byron ? 'Twas fame — ah, true. 
Tasso and Petrarch ? They perished the same. 
Yes, so endeth all, as you well have said. 
And you, poor child, are too wise, and you. 
Too sudden, sad child, in joux hard ugly youth, 
Have stumbled face fronting an obstinate truth. 
For whether for love, for gold, or for fame, 
They but lived their day, and they died the 

same. 

XV. 

" But talk not of death : of death, or the life 
That comes after death. 'Tis beyond your reach, 
And this too much thouoht has a sense of 

strife . . . 
Ay, true ; I promised you not to preach . . . 
My maid of Venice, or maid unmade. 
Lie still on my bosom. Be not afraid. 
What ! Say you are hungry ? Well, let us dine 
Till the near morn comes on the silver shine 
Of the lamp-lit sea. At dawn of day, 
Child of the street, you can go your way. 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 21 

XYI. 

Your mother's palace? I know your town; 

Know every nook of it, left and right. 

As well as yourself. For up and down 

Your salt-flood streets, for many a night, 

I have rowed and roved with a lady fair 

As the face of heaven. Nay, I know there 

Is no such a palace. What ! you dare 

To look in my face, to lie outright. 

To bend your brows, and to frown me down ? 

There is no such a place in that part of the town ! 

xvn. 

'' What ! woo me away to your rickety boat, 

To pick my pockets, to cut my throat. 

With help of your pirates ? Then throw me out, 

Loaded with stones to sink me down, 

Down into the filth and dregs of the town ? 

Why, that is your damnable aim, no doubt ! 

And, beautiful child, you seem too fair, 

Too young, for even a thought like that ; 

Too young for even the soul to dare — 

Ay, even the serpent to whisper at. 



22 SONGS OF ITALY. 

xyni. 
" Now, there is such a thing as being true 
Even in villany. Listen to me : 
Black-skinned women and low-browed men, 
And desperate robbers and thieves ; and then, 
Why, there are the pirates! Ay, pirates re- 
formed, 
Pirates reformed and unreformed : 
Pirates for me, friends for you. — 
And these are your neighbors. And so you see 
That I know your town, your neighbors : and I — 
Well, pardon me, girl, — but I know you lie. 

XIX. 

" Tut, tut, my beauty ! What trickery now? 
Why, tears through your hair on my hand like 

rain ! 
Come ! look in my face : laugh, lie again 
With your wonderful eyes. Lift up your brow. 
Come ! shake your fist at the world, and defy 
The world. Now, this lying is no new thing — 
The wearers of laces know well how to lie ; 
As well, ay, better, than you or L . . . 
They lie for fortune, for fame : instead, 
You, child of the street, only lie for your bread. 



A DOVE OF ST, MARK. 23 



XX. 

" Some sounds blow in from the distant land ; 
The bells strike sharp, and as out of tune, 
Some sudden, short notes. To the east and afar. 
And up from the sea, is lifting a star 
As large, my beautiful child, and as white 
And as lovely to see as your little white hand. 
The people have melted away with the night, 
And not one gondola frets the lagoon. 
See I Away to the east — 'tis the face of morn. 
Hear ! Away to the west — 'tis the fisherman's 
horn. 

XXI. 

" 'Tis morn in Venice ! My child, adieu ! 
Arise, poor beauty, and go your way ; 
And as for myself, wh}^ much like you, 
I must sell this story to who may pay 
And dares to reckon it brave and meet. 
Yea, each of us traders, poor child of pain ; 
For each must barter for bread to eat 
In a world of trade and an age of gain ; 
With just this difference, child of the street : 
You sell your body, I sell my brain. 



24 SONGS OF ITALY. 

xxn. 
" Why, child, what a wreck ! Lo, here you reel, 
Poor, wrecked little vessel, with never a keel ; 
With never a soul to advise or to care : 
You lie like a sea-weed, well astrand. 
Blown like the sea-foam hard on the sand, 
A poor, white body, with never a hand 
Reached out from the land, though you sink and 

die, — 
All covered with sin to the brows and haii*. 
Left all alone to starve or to lie. 
Or to sell your body to who may buy. 

XXIII. 

" Child of the street, I will kiss you ! Yea, 
I will fold 3^ou and hold you close to my breast. 
And as you lie resting in your first rest, 
And as night is pushed back from the face of day, 
I will push your tumbled and long, strong liair 
Well back from your face, and kiss you where 
Your ruffian, bearded, black men of crime 
Have stung you and stained you a thousand 

time ; 
And call you my sister, sweet child, as you sleep, 
And waken you not, lest you wake but to weep. 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK, ^0 

XXIV. 

*' Yea, tenderly kiss you. And I shall not be 
Ashamed, nor stained in the least, sweet dove, — 
Tenderly kiss, with the kiss of Love, 
And of Faith and of Hope and of Charity. 
Nay, I shall be purer and better then ; 
For, child of the street, you, living or dead, 
Stained to the brows, are purer to me 
Ten thousand times than the world of men. 
Who but reach you a hand to lead 3'ou astray. — 
But the dawn is upon us ! Rise, go your way. 

XXV. 

" Here ! take this money. Take it, and say, 
When 3^ou have awakened and I am away, 
Roving the world and forgetting of 3^ou ; 
When you have aroused from your brief little rest. 
And find these francs nestled down in your 

breast, 
And rough men question you, — why, then say 

That Madonna sent them. Then kneel and pray, 
And pray for me, the worst of the two : 
Then God will bless you, sweet child, and joii 
Shall be mine angel my whole life through. 



26 SONGS OF ITALY. 

XXVI. 
" Take this money and buy you bread, 
And eat and rest while a year wears through. 
Then, rising refreshed, try virtue instead ; 
Be stronger and better, poor, pitiful dear. 
So prompt with a falsehood, prompt Avith a tear, 
For the hand grows stronger as the heart grows 

true. 
Take courage, my child, for I promise you 
We are judged by our chances of life and lot. 
And your poor little soul may yet pass through 
The eye of the needle, where laces shall not. 

xxvn. 

" Poor dove of the dust, Avith tear-Avet Avings, 
Homeless and lone as the dove from its ark, — 
Do you reckon yon angel that tops St. Mark, 
That tops the tower, that tops the town. 
If he knew us two, if he kneAv all things, 
Would say, poor child, 3^ou are worse than I? 
Do you reckon yon angel, looking doAvn 
And doAvn like a star, he hangs so high, 
Could tell AA^hich one Avere the worst of us two? 
Child of the street — it is not vou I 



A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 27 



xxvin. 

" If we two were dead, and laid side by side 
Right here on the pavement, this very day, 
Here under the lion and over tlie sea, 
Where the morn flows in like a rosy tide, 
And the sweet Madonna tliat stands in the moon, 
With her crown of stars, just across the lagoon, 
Should come and should look upon you and me, — 
Do you reckon, my child, that she would decide, 
As men do decide and as women do say, 
That you are so dreadful, and turn away ? 

XXIX. 

*' If the angel were sent to choose to-day 

Between us two as we lay here. 

Dead and alone in this desolate place, — 

You, white with a hunger and stained with a tear, 

Or I, the rover the whole world through, 

Restless and stormy as any sea, — 

]f tlie angel were sent to choose, I say, 

This very moment the best of the two. 

Looking us two right straight in the face, 

Child of the street, he would not choose me. 



28 SONGS OF ITALY. 



XXX. 

" The fresh sun is falling on turret and tower, 
The far sun is flashing on spire and dome, 
The marl)les of Venice are bursting to flower. 
The marbles of Venice are flower and foam : 
Child of the street, oh, waken jo\x now ! 
There ! bear my kiss on your brave white brow, 
Through earth to heaven : and when we meet 
Beyond the waters, poor waif of the street, 
Why, then I shall know you, my sad, sweet dove, 
And claim you and kiss you with the kiss of love. 

Venice, 1873. 



SUNRISE IN VENICE. 29 



SUNRISE IN VENICE. 

I. 

IVTIGHT seems troubled and scarce asleep ; 
Her brows are gathered in broken rest. 
A star in tlie east starts up from the deep ! 
Sullen old lion of loved Saint Mark, 
Lord of the deep, high-throned in the dark ! 
'Tis morn, new-born, with a star on her breast, 
White as my lilies that grow in the West ! 

Hist ! men are passing me hurriedly. 

I see the yellow wide wings of a bark ! 

Sail . silently over my morning-star, 

And on and in to an amber sea. 

I see men move in the moving dark, 

Tall and silent as columns are, 

Girded and patient as Destiny ; 

Great, sinewy men that are good to see, 

With hair pushed back, and with open breasts ; 

Barefooted fishermen, seeking their boats. 

Brown as walnuts and hairy as goats, — 

Brave old water-dogs, wed to the sea, 

First to their labors and last to their rests. 



30 SONGS OF ITALY, 



n. 

Ships are moving ! I hear a horn — 

A silver trumpet it sounds to me, 

Deep-voiced and musical, far at sea . . . 

Answers back, and again it calls. 

'Tis the sentinel boats that watch the town 

All night, as mounting her watery Avails. 

And watching for pirate or smuggler. Down 

Over the sea, and reaching away. 

And against the east, a soft light falls 

Silvery soft as the mist of morn, 

And I catch a breath like the breath of day. 

m. 

The east is blossoming ! Yea, a rose, 
Vast as the heavens, soft as a kiss. 
Sweet as the presence of woman is, 
Rises and reaches, and widens and grows 
Large and luminous up from the sea. 
And out of the sea, as a blossoming tree. 

Richer and richer, so higher and higher, 
Deeper and deeper it takes its hue ; 



SU.VuY/SE IN VENICE. 31 

Brighter and brighter it reaches through 
The space of heaven and the place of stars, 
Till all is as rich as a rose can be, 
And my ros.e-leaves fall into billows of fire. 
Then beams reach upward as arms from a sea ; 
Then lances and arrows are aimed at me. 
Then lances and spangles and spars and bars 
Are broken and shivered and strown on the sea ; 
And around and about me tower and spire 
Start from the billows like tongues of fire. 

Venice, 1874. 



'^2 SONGS OF ITALY, 



PALATINE HILL. 

I. 
A WOLF-LIKE stream without a sound 
Steals by and hides beneath the shore, 
Its awful secrets evermore 
Within its sullen bosom bound. 

n. 

And this was Rome, that shrieked for room 
To stretch her limbs ! A hill of caves 
For half-wild beasts and hairy slaves ; 
And gypsies tent within her tomb ! 

III. 

Two lone palms on the Palatine, 
Two rows of cypress black and tail, 
With white roots set in Caesar's Hall, — 
A garden, convent, and sweet slirine. 



PALATINE HILL. 33 

IV. 

Tall cedars on a broken wall, 
That look away toward Lebanon, 
And seem to mourn for grandeur gone : 
A wolf, an owl, — and that is all. 

Rome, September, 1873. 



34 SONGS OF ITALY. 



IN A GONDOLA. 

I. 

'nnWAS night in Venice. Then down to the 

tide, 
Where a tall and a shadowy gondolier 
Leaned on his oar, like a lifted spear : — 
'TAvas night in Venice ; then side by side 
We sat in his boat. Then oar a-trip 
On the black boat's keel, then dip and dip ; — 
These boatmen should build their boats more 

wide, 
For we were together, and side by side. 

n. 

The sea it was level as seas of light, 
As still as the light ere a hand was laid 
To the making of lands, or the seas were made. 
'Twas fond as a bride on her bridal night 
When a great love swells in her soul like a sea, 
And makes her but less than divinity. 
'Twas niglit, — The soul of the day, I wis : 
A woman's face hiding from her first kiss. 



IN A GONDOLA. 35 



m. 

'Twas ni(Tht in Venice. On o'er the tide — 
These boats they are narroAV as they can be, 
These crafts they are narroAv enough, and we, 
To balance the boat, sat side by side — 
Out under the arch of the Bridge of Sighs, 
On under the arch of the star-sown skies : 
We two were together on the Adrian Sea, — 
The one fair woman of the workl to me. 

IV. 

These narrow-built boats, they rock when at sea, 
And they make one afraid. So she leaned to me ; 
And that is the reason alone there fell 
Such golden folds of abundant hair 
Down over my shoulder, as we sat there. 
These boatmen should build their boats more 

wide, 
Wider for lovers ; as wide — Ah, Avell ! 
But who is the rascal to kiss, and tell ? 

Vexick, 1874. 



36 SONGS OF ITALY, 



COMO. 

'T^HE red-clad fishers row and creep 
Below the crags, as half asleep, 
Nor ever make a single sound. 

The walls are steep. 

The waves are deep ; 
And if a dead man should be found 
By these same fishers in their round, 
Wliy, who shall say but he was drowned? 

I. 

The lakes lay bright as bits of broken moon 
Just newly set within the cloven earth ; 
The ripened fields drew round a golden girth 
Far up the steeps, and glittered in the noon ; 
And, when tlie sun fell down, from leafy shore 
Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar. 
The stars, as large as lilies, flecked the blue ; 
From out the Alps the moon came wheeling 

through 
The ror;ky pass the great Napoleon knew. 



COMO, 37 

n. 

A gala night it was, — tlie season's prime. 
We rode from castled lake to festal town, 
To fair Milan — my friend and I ; rode down 
By night, where grasses waved in rippled 

rhyme : 
And so, what theme but love at such a time ? 
His proud lip curled the while with silent scorn 
At thought of love ; and then, as one forlorn. 
He sighed ; then bared his temples, dashed with 

gray; 
Then mocked, as one outworn and well hla^e, 

in. 

A gorgeous tiger lily, flaming red, — 

So full of battle, of the trumpet's blare, 

Of old-time passion, — upreared its head. 

I galloped past. I leaned, I clutched it there 

From out the long, strong grass. I held it high, 

And cried : " Lo I this to-nio-ht shall deck her hair 

Through all the dance. And mark ! the man 

shall die 
Who dares assault, for good or ill design, 
The citadel where I shall set this sign." 



38 SONGS OF ITALY. 



TV. 

He spake no spare word all the after while. 
That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his ! 
And in the hall the same old, hateful smile ! 
Why, better men have died for less insult than 

this. 
Then marvel not that when she graced the floor, 
With all the beauties gathered from the four 
Far quarters of the world, and she, my fair, 
The fairest, wore within her midnight hair 
My tiger lily, — marvel not, I say. 
That he glared like some wild beast well at bay. 

V. 

Oh, she shone fairer than the summer star, 
Or curled, sweet moon in middle destiny ; 
]\Iore fair than sunrise climbing up the sea. 
Where all the loves of Adrian a are. 
Who loves, who truly loves, will stand aloof: 
The noisy tongue makes most unholy proof 
Of shallow passion. . . . All the while afar 
From out the dance I stood and watched my 

star. 
My tiger lily borne an oriflamme of \\ar. 



COMO. 39 

VT. 

Italia's beauties blushed at love's advance. 
Like bright white mice in moonlight at their 

play, 
Or sunfish shooting in some shining bay, 
The swift feet shot and glittered in tlie dance. 
Oil, have you loved and truly loved, and seen 
Aught else the while than your own stately 

queen ? 
Her presence it was majesty — so tall ; 
Her proud development encompassed all. 
She filled all space. I sought, I saw but her : 
I followed as some fervid worshipper. 

VII. 

Adown the dance she moved with matchless 

grace. 
The world — my world — moved with her. 

Suddenly 
I q uestioned whom her cavalier might be ? 
'Twas he ! His face Avas leaning to her face I 
I clutched my blade ; I sprang ; I caught my 

breath, — 
And so, stood leaning cold and still as death. 



40 SONGS OF ITALY. 

And thej stood still. She blushed, then reached 

and tore 
The lily as she passed, and down the floor 
She strewed its heart like bits of gushing 

gore, 



/• • • • 



Yin. 

'Twas lie said heads, not hearts, were made to 

break : 
He, taught me this that night in splendid scorn. 
I learned too well. . . . The dance was done. Ere 

morn 
AVe mounted — he and I — but no more 

spake. . . . 
And this for woman's love ! My lily worn 
In her dark hair in pride, to then be torn 
And trampled on, for this bold stranger's 

sake ! . . . 
Two men rode silent back toward the lake ; 
Two men rode silent down — but only one 
Rode up at morn to meet the rising sun. 

The walls are steep ; 
The crags shall keep 



COMO. 41 

Their everlasting watch profound. 

The walls are steep, 

The waves are deep ; 
And if a dead man should be found 
By red-clad fishers in their round, 
Why, who shall say but he was drowned ? 

Lake Como, 1874. 



42 SONGS OF ITALY. 



A GARIBALDIAN'S STORY. 

I. 

«' AY, signor ! that's Nervi, just under the 

lights 
That look down from the forts on the Genoese 

heights ; 
And that stone set in stone in the rim of the sea, 
Like a tall figure rising and reaching a hand, 
Marks the spot where the chief and his red- 

shirted band 
Hoisted sail. . . . Have a light ? Ah, yes : as 

for me 
I have lights, and a leg — short a leg, as you see ; 
And have three fingers hewn from this strong 

sabre-hand. 

n. 
" See that cursed cowled monk, black-mantled, 

and black 
In his heart as the plague, or the stole at his 

back, 



A GARIRALDIAN'S STORY. 43 

Stealing by like a spy down that sweet wooded 

way ? 
Well, these were the fellows we grappled. Why 

they — 
They were thick in the land as the locusts. 

Tlie land 
Was eaten alive by their indolence. Yea, 
They did toil not nor spin, and yet their array 
Was as purple and gold ; and they laid heavy 

hand 
On tlie first of the fruits, of the flocks ; and the 

gown 
Soiled the first fairest maidens of country and 

town. 

in. 

" Look you there ! Do you see where the blue 

bended floors 
Of the heavens are frescoed with stars? See 

the heights, 
Then the bent hills beneath, where the grape - 

growers' doors 
Open out and look down in a crescent of lights ? 
Well, there I was born ; grew tall. Then the 

call 



44 SONGS OF ITALY. 

For bold men for Sicily. 

I rose from the vines, 

Shook back my long hair, looked forth, then let 

fall 
My dull pruning-hook, and stood full in the 

lines. 
Then ray young promised bride held her head 

to her breast 
As a sword trailed the stones, and I strode with 

a zest. 
But a sable-cowled monk girt his gown, and 

looked down 
With a leer in her face, as I turned from the 

town. 

IV. 

" Then from yonder green hills bending down to 

the seas. 
Grouping here, grouping there, in the gray olive 

tree!S, 
We watched the slow sun ; slow saw him retire 
At last in the sea, like a vast isle of fire. 
Then the chief drew his sword : 

There Avas that in his air, 
As the care on his face came and went and still 

came. 



n 



A GARIBALDIAN'S STORY. 45 

As he gazed out at sea, and yet gazed anywhere, 
That meant more, signor, more than a peasant 

can say. 
Then at last, when the stars in the soft-tempered 

breeze 
Glowed red and grew large, as if fanned to a 

flame, 
Lo ! something shot up from a black-muffled ship 
Deep asleep in the bay, like a star gone astray: 
Then down, double quick, with the sword-hilt 

a-trip, 
Came the troop with a zest, and — that stone 

tells the rest. 

V. 

" Hot times at Marsala ! and then under Rome 
It was hell sure enough, and a whole column fell 
Like new vines in a frost. 

Then year followed 3'ear, 
Until, stricken and sere, at last I came home — 
As the strife lulled a spell, came limping back 

here — 
Stealing back to my home, limping up out of hell. 
But we won, did we not ? Won, I scarcely know 

what — 



48 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Yet the whole land is free from the Alps to the 

sea. 
Ah ! my young promised bride ? Christ, that 

cuts ! Why, I thought 
That her face had gone by, like a dream that was 

not. 

VI. 

" What a presence was hers ! What a throat, 

what a mouth ! 
Why, a mouth that Rossetti, the painter, had 

smiled 
But to see ; had caught it on canvas, had set his 

craft wild 
With talk of his picture from Northland to 

South ! — 
A mouth that half opened as hungered for love. 
That trusted all things ; a mouth that went out 
With daring and valor, that never knew doubt, 
Yet was proud and as pure as that bent moon 

above. . . . 

VII. 

. . . '* Yes, peaches must ripen and show the sun's 

red 
In their time, I suppose, like the full of a rose ; 



i 



I 



A GARIBALDIAN'S STORY. 4T 

And some one must pluck them, 'tis very well 

said, 
A.S they swell and grow rich and look luscious to 

touch : 
Yet I fancy some men, some fiends, must have 

much 
To repent of: This reaching up rudely of hand 
For the early sweet-fruits of a warm, careless 

land ; 
This plucking and biting of every sweet peach 
Ere yet it is ripe and come well to its worth. 
Then casting it down, and quite spoiled, to the 

reach 
Of the swine and the things that creep close to 

the earth. . . • 

vm. 

"But he died ! Look you here. Stand aside. 

Yes, he died 
Like a dog in a ditch. In that >>w battle-moat 
He was found on a morn. The red line on his 

throat 
They said was a rope. * Bah I the one-fingered 

man 
Might have done it,' said one. 



48 SOJVGS OF ITALY. 

Then I laughed till I cried 
When the guard led me forth, and the judge sat 

to scan 
IMj hands and my strength, and to question lue 

sore : 
' Why, what has the match-man to do with all 

this, — 
The one-fingered man, with his life gone amiss ? ' 
I cried as I laughed, and they vexed me no more. 

Some men must fill trenches. Ten thousand go 

down 

As unnamed and unknown as the stones in a wall, 

For the few to pass over and on to renown : 

And I am of these. 

The old king has liis crown. 

And my country is free ; and what more, after all, 

Did I ask from the first ? 

Don't you think that yon lights 

Through the black olive trees look divine on the 

seas? 
Then look 3^ou above, where the Apennines bend ; 
Why, you scarcely can tell, as j^ou peer through 

the trees. 
Where the great stars begin or the cottage-lights 

end ! 



A GARIBALDIAN'S STORY, 49 

rx. 

*' Yes, a little bit lonely, that can't be denied ; 
But as good place to wait for a sign as may be. 
I shall watch on the shore, looking out as before ; 
And the chief on his isle in the calm middle sea. 
With his sword gathered up, stands waiting with 

me 
For the great silent ship. 

We shall cross to the shore 
Where a white city lies like yon Alps in the skies. 
And look down on tliis sea ; and right well 

satisfied. 

X. 

"Ay ! The whole country round vaunts our deed, 

and the town 
Raised that shaft on the spot, — for the whole 

land is free ; 
And some won renown, and one won a crown, 
And one won a right to sell lights by the sea. 
Have a light, sir, to-night ? Ah, thanks, signer, 

thanks ! 
Bon voyage, bon voyage I Bless you and your 

francs." 

Genoa, October, 1873. 



50 SONGS OF ITALY. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 

Part I. 

" And full these truths eternal 
O'er the yearning sph'it steal, 
That the real is the ideal, 
And the ideal is the real." 

I. 

O HE was damned with the dower of beauty. She 

Had gold in shower about her brow. 
Her feet ! — why, her two blessed feet were so 

small 
They could nest in this hand. When she stood 

up so tall, 
So gracious, so grand, she was all to me, — 
IM}- present, my past, ni}^ eternity ! . . . 
She lives in my dreams. I behold her now 
On that shoreless white river that flowed like a sea 
At her feet where I sat. . . . How her lips pushed 

out 
In their brave, warm welcome of dimple and pout I 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL, 51 

n. 

'Twas eons agone. By a river that ran 

Fathomless, echoless, limitless, on. 

And shoreless, and peopled with never a man, — 

We met, soul to soul. ... No land ; yet I think 

There were willows and lilies that leaned to drink. 

The stars were all sealed and the moons were gone. 

The wide shining circles that girdled that Avorld, 

They were distant and dim. An incense curled 

In vapory folds from that river that ran 

All shoreless, with never the presence of man. 

m. 

How sensuous the night! how soft was the sound 
Of her voice on the night ! How warm was her 

breath 
In that world that had never yet tasted of death 
Or forbidden sweet fruit ! ... In that far pro- 
found 
We were camped on the edges of god-land. We 
Were the people of Saturn. The watery fields. 
The wide-winged, dolorous birds of the sea, — 
They acknowledged but us. Our battle -shields 
Were m}^ naked white palms ; our foodit was love. 
Our roof was the fresco of stars above. 



62 SONGS OF ITALY. 

IV. 

How tender she was, and how timid she was ! 
How turned she to me where that wide river ran, 
With its lilies and willows and watery reeds, 
And heeded as only your true love heeds ! . . . 
But a black-hoofed beast, with the head of a man, 
Stole down where she sat at my side, and began 
To puff his cheeks, then to play, then to pause. 
With his double-reed pipe ; then to play and to play 
As never played man since the world began. 
And never shall play till tlie judgment day. 

V. 

How he puffed ! how he played ! Tlien adown 

the dim shore. 
This half-devil man, all hairy and black. 
Did dance with his hoofs in the sand, looking back 
As his song died away. . . . She turned never more 
Unto me after that. She arose, and she pass'd 
Right on from my sight. Then I followed as fast 
As a love could follow. But ever before 
Like a spirit she fled. How vain and how far 
Did I follow my beauty from star to white star ! 
From foamy white sea, and from stormy black 

shore. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 53 

VI. 

But I here shall abide. I shall pipe on a reed. 
I shall sit by the waters my whole life through. 
T shall sing wild songs. I shall take no heed 
Of the things forbidden, or of bitter-sweet fruit. 
I shall feast with the gods. I shall sing for the few. 
I shall pipe not for love. I shall reach my hand, 
And pluck fair lilies from the bank by the root. 
I shall laugh like a satyr. I shall dance on the sand, 
I shall rove o'er the sea, I shall rest by the shore ; 
But never seek love upon earth any more. 

VII. 

Never more upon earth ! Yet the heaven-bound 

span 
Of life upon earth, — lo, it is but to-day ! 
Last night was the land that remembers no man. 
To-morrow the skies ! . . . Then who shall 

gainsay 
The valor of patience ? Lo ! there I shall woo 
In the gardens of God, on the ceiitremost star 
Of all whirling stars. Face fi'ont I shall view 
This one splendid face I have followed so far. 
There love shall heal love of her hard battle-scars, 
Begun on the outermost edge of the stars. 



64 SONGS OF ITALY. 

vm. 

How long I had sought her ! My soul of fire 
It had fed on itself. I fasted, I cried ; 
Was tempted by many. Yet still I denied 
The touch of all things, and kept my desire. . . . 
I stood by the lion of St. Mark in that hour 
Of Venice, when gold of the sunset is rolled 
From cloud to cathedral, to turret and tower, 
In matchless, magnificent garment of gold. 
Then I knew she was near ; yet I had not known 
Her form or her face since the stars were sown. 

IX. 

We two had been parted — God pity us ! — when 
The stars were unnamed and all heaven was 

dim ; 
We two had been parted far back on the rim 
And the outermost border of heaven's red bars ; 
We two had been parted ere the meeting of men, 
Or God had set compass on spaces as yet ; 
We two had been parted ere God had set 
His finger to spinning the purple with stars, — 
And now, at the last in the gold and set 
Of the sun of Venice, we two had met. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 55 

X. 

Where the lion of Venice, with brows a-frown, 
With toss'd mane tumbled, and teeth in air, 
Looks out in his watch o'er the watery town, 
With a paw half lifted, with his claws half bare, 
By the blue Adriatic, in the edge of the sea, — 
I saw her. I knew her, but she knew not me. 
I had found her at last ! Why, I had sailed 
The antipodes through, had sought, had hailed 
All flags, had climbed where the storm-clouds 
curled, [world. 

And called through the awful arched dome of the 

XI. 

I saw her one moment, then fell back abashed, 
And filled full to the throat. . . . Then I turned 

me once more 
So glad to the sea, while the level sun flashed 
On the far, snowy Alps. . . . Her breast I — why, 

her breast 
Was white as twin pillows that allure you to rest ; 
Her sloping limbs moved like to melodies, told 
As she rose from the sea ; and she threw back 

the gold 
Of her glorious hair, and set face to the shore. . . . 
I knew her ! I knew her, though we had not met 
Since the far stars sang to the sun's first set. 



B6 SONGS OF ITALY. 

xn. 

How long I had sought her ! I had hungered, 

nor ate 
Of any sweet fruits. I had tasted not one 
Of all the fair glories grown under the sim. 
I had sought only her. Yea, I knew that she 
Had come upon earth, and stood waiting for me 
Somewhere by my way. But the pathways of fate 
They had led otherwhere ; the round world round, 
The far North seas and the near profound 
Had failed me for aye. Now I stood by that sea 
Where ships drave by, and all dreamily. 

xm. 
I had turned from the lion a time, and when 
I looked tow'rd the tide and out on the lea 
Of the town where the warm sea tumbled and 

teemed 
With beauty, I saw her ! I knew her then, 
The tallest, the fairest fair daughter of men. 
Oh, Venice stood full in her glory. She gleamed 
In the splendor of sunset and sensuous sea ; 
Yet I saw but my bride, my all to me, 
While the doves hurried home to the dome of 

Saint Mark, [in the dark. 

And the brass horses plunged their high manes 



\ 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 57 

xrv. 

I spake not, but caught at my breath ; I did raise 
My face to fair heaven, to give God praise 
That at last, ere the ending of time, we two 
Had touched upon earth at the same sweet 

place. . . . 
Yea, we never had met upon earth at all ; 
Never, since ages ere Adam's fall. 
Had we two met in the fulness of soul. 
Where two are as one, but ]iad wandered on 

through 
The spheres, divided, where planets roll 
Unnam'd and in darkness through limitless space. 

XV. 

Was it well with my love ? Was she true ? 
Was she brave 

With virtue's own valor? Was she waitino; for 
me? 

Oh, how fared my love ? Had she home ? Had 
she bread ? 

Had she known but the touch of the warm- 
tempered wave ? 

Was she born upon earth with a crown on her 
head, 



58 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Or horn, like myself, but a dreamer instead? 
So long it had been ! So long ! Why the sea — 
That wrinkled and surly, old, time-tempered 

slave — 
Had been born, had his revels, grown wrinkled 

and hoar 
Since I last saw my love on that uttermost shore. 

XVI. 

Oh, how fared my love ? Once I lifted my face, 
And I shook back my hair and looked out on the 

sea; 
I pressed my hot palms as I stood in my place, 
And cried : " Oh, I come like a king to your side 
Though all hell intervene!" . . . ''Hist! she 

may be a bride, 
A mother at peace, with sweet babes on her 

knee ! 
A babe at her breast and a spouse at her side ! — 
Have I wandered too long, and has Destiny 
Set mortal between us ? " I buried my face 
In my hands, and I moaned as I stood in my 

place. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 59 

xvn. 

'Twas her year to be young. She was tall, she 
was fair — 

Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ? 

'Twas her year to be young. She was fair, she 
was tall ; 

And I felt she was true, as I lifted my face 

And saw her press down her rich robe to its place. 

With a hand Avhite and small as a babe's Avith a 
doll. 

And her feet ! — why, her feet in the white shin- 
ing sand 

Were so small, 'twas a Avonder the maiden could 
stand. 

Then she pushed back her hair with a round 
hand that shone 

And flashed in the light with a white starry stone. 

XVIII. 
Then, my love she is rich ! My love she is fair I 
Is she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ? 
She is gorgeous with wealth ! " Thank God, she 

has bread," 
I said to myself. Then I humbled my head 



60 SOA'GS OF ITALY. 

In gratitude. Then I questioned me Avhere 
Was her palace, her parents ? What name did 

she bear? 
What mortal on earth came nearest her heart ? 
Who touched the small hand till it thrilled to a 

smart ? 
*Twas her year to be young. She was proud, 

she was fair — 
Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ? 

XIX. 

Beneath her blue robe her round bosom rose 
In sensuous beauty ! She was white as the 

snows 
Of the Tyrolese Alps. Oh, the slope of her arm ! 
Oh, the rounded limbs' length ! The breasts 

heaving warm 
As welcomes of love ! The lips pushing out ! 
The proud mouth gathered in dimple and pout ! 
Then the dusky depressions, suggestions of night, 
They did make her pure whiteness but appear 

the more wliite : 
Whiter indeed than the white soul of man, 
Or the whitest marbles of the Vatican. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 61 

XX. 

She loosened her robe that was blue like the sea, 

And silken and soft as a babe's new born. 

And my heart it leapt light as the sunlight at 

morn 
At the sight of my love in her purity, 
As she rose like a Naiad half-robed from the sea. 
As careless, as calm as a queen can be, 
She loosed and let fall all the raiment of blue, 
As she drew a white robe in a melody 
Of her moving white limbs ; and between the 

two. 
Like a rift in a cloud, shone her fair form thro\ 

XXI. 

Now she turned, reached a hand ; then a tall 

gondolier 
Who had leaned on his oar, like a long lifted spear, 
Shot sudden and swift and all silently, 
And drew to her side as she turned from the 

tide . . . 
It was odd, such a thing, and I counted it queer 
That a princess like this, whether virgin or bride, 



62 SOJVGS OF ITALY. 

Should abide thus apart, and should bathe in that 

sea ; 
And I shook back my hair, and so unsatisfied ! 
Then I fluttered the doves that were perched 

close about, 
As I strode up and down in dismay and in doubt. 

xxn. 

Then she stood in the boat on the borders of 

night 
As a goddess might stand on that far wonder-land 
Of eternal sweet life, which men have named 

Death. 
I turned to the sea, and I caught at my breath 
As she crouched in the boat, and her white 

baby hand 
Held her vestment of purple imperial and white. 
Then the gondola shot, — swift, sharp from the 

shore : 
There was never the sound of a song or of oar, 
But the doves hurried home in white clouds to 

Saint Mark, 
Where the lion looms high o'er the sea in the 

dark. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 63 

xxm. 

Then I cried : " Quick ! Follow her ! Follow 

her ! Fast ! 
Come, thrice double fare if you follow her true 
To her own palace door ! " There was plashing 

of oar 
And rattle of rowlock. ... I sat leaning low, 
Looking far in the dark, looking out as we sped 
With my soul all alert, bending down, leaning low. 
But only the oaths of the men as we pass'd. 
When we jostled them sharp as we sudden shot 

thro' 
The watery town. Then a deep, distant roar — 
The rattle of rowlock, the rush of the oar. 

xxrv. 

We rock'd and we rode : then the oars keeping pace 
Gave stroke for short stroke in the swift stormy 

chase. 
I lifted my face, and lo ! fitfully 
The heavens breathed lightning : it did lift and fall 
As if angels were parting God's curtains. Then 

deep 
And indolent-like and as if half-asleep, 



64 SONGS OF ITALY. 

As if half made angry to move at all, 
The ihuncler moved. It confronted me. 
It stood like an avalanche poised on a hill : 
I saw its black brows. I heard it stand still. 

XXV. 

Then we flew by a great house hurriedly, 
With its four walls washed by the foamy sea ; 
'Twas the place where Shelley was wont to be. 
I heard in the heavens the bowlings of men ; 
High up in the dark I did hear men shout ; 
And I lifted my eyes as the lightnings fell, 
And I saw hands thrust through the bars ; and then 
I knew 'twas the madhouse howling at me : 
So doleful, so lone ! Like a land cast out. 
And awful as Lucifer throned in hell. 

XXVI. 

Then an oath. Then a prayer. Then a gust 

that made rents 
Thro' the yellow-sailed fishers. Then suddenly 
Came sharp-forked fire ! Then far thunder fell 
Like the great first gun ! Ah, then there was rout 
Of ships like the breaking of regiments, 
And shouts as if hurled from an upper hell. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 65 

Then tempest ! It lifted, it spun us about, 
Then shot us ahead through the hills of the sea 
As if a great arrow shot shoreward in wars — 
Then heaven split open till we saw the blown 
stars. 

XXVII. 
On ! On ! through the foam, through the storm, 

through the town. 
She was gone ! She was lost in the wilderness 
Of palaces lifting their marbles of snow. 
I stood in my gondola. Up and all down 
I pushed through the surge of the salt-flood street 
Above me, below. . . . 'Twas onl}^ the beat 
Of the sea's sad heart. . . . Then I heard below 
The water-rat building, and nothing but that ; 
Not even the sea-bird screaming distress. 
As she lost her way in that wilderness. 

xxYin. 
I listened all night. I caught at each sound ; 
T clutched and I caught as a man that drown'd — 
Only the sullen, low growl of the sea 
Far out the flood-street at the edge of the ships. 
Only the billow slow licking his lips, 



66 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Like a dog that lay croucliing there watching for 

me, 
Growling and showing white teeth all the night, 
Reaching his neck and as ready to bite. 
Only the waves with their salt-flood tears 
Fawning white stones of a thousand years. 

xxrx. 

Only the birds in the loftiness 

Of column and dome and of glittering spire 

That thrust to heaven and held the fire 

Of the thunder still ; the bird's distress 

As he struck his wings in that wilderness, 

On marbles that speak and thrill and inspire. — 

The night below and the night above ; 

The water-rat building, the startled white dove ; 

The wide-winged, dolorous sea-bird's call, 

The water-rat building, — but that was all. 

XXX. 

Silent and slowly, and up and down, 

I rowed and I rowed me for many an hour. 

By beetling palace and toppling tower. 

In the dark and the deep of the watery town. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 07 

Only the water-rat building by stealth, 
Only the sea-bird astray in his flight 
As he struck his wings in the clouds of night, 
On spires that sprang from old Adria's wealth, 
On marbles that move with their eloquence. 
On statues so sweeter than utterance. 

XXXI. 

Lo ! pushing the darkness from pillar to post, 
The morning came silent and gray like a ghost 
Slow up the canal. I leaned from the prow 
And listened. Not even the bird in distress 
Screaming above through the wilderness ; 
Not even the stealthy old water-rat now. 
Only the bell in the fisherman's tower, 
SloAV tolling at sea and telling the hour 
To kneel to their sweet Santa Barbara 
For tawny fishers at sea and pray. 



G8 SONGS OF ITALY. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 

Part H. 

I. 

T TIGH over my head, carved cornice, quaint 

spire ; 
And ancient-built palaces knocked their gray 

brows 
Together and frowned. The slow-creeping scows 
Scraped the wall on each side. High over, the 

fire 
Of sudden-born morning came flaming in bars : 
While up through my chasm I coidd count tbt' 

stars. [deatli 

My God ! Such damp ruin ! The dank smell of 
Came up the canal : I could scarce take my breath I 
'Twas the fit place for pirates, for women who keep 
Contagion of body and soul where they sleep. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 69 

n. 

Great heaven ! A white hand did beckon to me 
From an old mouldy door, and almost in my reach. 
I sprang to the sill as one wrecked to a beach ; 
I sprang with wide arms : it was she ! it was 

she ! . . . 
In such a damn'd place ! And what was her trade ? 
To think I had followed, so faithful, so far, 
From eternity's brink, from star to white star. 
To find her, to find her, nor wife nor sweet maid ! 
To find her a shameless poor creature of shame, 
A nameless lost body, men hardly dare name. 

in. 

All alone in her pride, on that damp dismal floor 
She stood to entice me. I bowed me before 
All-conquering beauty. I called her my queen. 
I told her my love as I would have told 
My love had I found her as pure as gold. 
I reached her my hand, as fearless a man 
As man fronting cannon. I cried : " Come forth 
To the sun ! There are lands to the south, to 

the north. 
Anywhere where you will. Dash the shame 

from your brow ; 
Come with me, for ever ; and come with me now ' " 



70 SONGS OF ITALY. 

IV. 

Why, I liad turned pirate for her ! I had seen 
Tall ships burned from seas, like to stubble from 

field. [yield, 

I would not now forsake her. Why should I now 
When she needed me most? Had I found her a 

queen. 
And beloved by the world, — why, Avhat had I 

done ? 
I had wooed her, and wooed her, and wooed till I 

won ! 
Then, if I had loved her with gold and fair fame, 
Would not I now love her, and love her the same ? 
My soul hath a pride. I would tear out my heart 
And feed it to dogs, could it play such a part. 

V. 

I told her all things. Her brow took a frown ; 
Her grand Titan beauty, so tall, so serene, 
The one perfect woman, mine own idol queen ! 
Her proud swelling bosom it broke up and down : 
Then she spake, and she shook in her soul as she 

said, 
With her small hands upheld to her bent, aclii ng 

head ; 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 71 

'' Go back to the world ! go back and alone, 
Tliou strange, stormy soul, intense as mine 

own ! " 
I said ; '' I will wait ! I will wait in the pass 
Of death, until Time he shall break his glass ! 

VI. 

" Don't you know me, my bride of the white 
worlds before ? 

Why, don't you remember the white milky-way 

Of stars, that we traversed a life-time through ? 

We were counting the colors, we were naming 
the seas 

Of the vaster ones. You remember the trees 

That swayed in the cloudy wliite heavens, and 
bore 

Bright crystals of sweets, and the sweet manna- 
dew? 

Why, you smile as you weep, and you lift up 
your brow. 

And your bright eyes speak, and you know me 
now ! 

You know me as if 'twere but yesterday ! 



"2 SONGS OF ITALY. 

vn. 

*' Now here in the lands where the gods did love, 
Where the white Europa was won, — she rode 
Her milk-white bull through these same warm 

seas, — 
Yea, here in the lands where the Hercules, 
With the lion's heart and the heart of the dov-e, 
Did walk in his naked great strength, and strode 
In the sensuous air with his lion's skin 
Flapping and fretting his knotted thews ; 
Where Theseus did wander, and Jason cruise, - 
Lo ! here let the life of all lives begin. 

Vin. 
" Lo ! here where the Orient balms blow in, 
Where heaven is kindest, where all God's blue 
Seems a great gate opened to welcome you, — 
Come, rise and go forth, and forget your sin ! " 
Then rose her great heart, so grander far 
Than I had believed on that outermost star ; 
And she put by her tears, and calmly she said 
With hands held low and with bended head : 
" Go thou through the doors of death, and wait 
For me on the innermost side of the gate. 



THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 73 

rx. 

" It is breaking my heart ; but, 'tis best," she said. 
" Tliank God that this life is but a day's span, 
But a wayside inn for weary, worn man — 
A night and a day ; and, to-morrow, the spell 
Of darkness is broken. Now, darling, farewell ! 
Nay, touch not the hem of my robe ! — it is red 
With sins that your own sex heaped on my head ! 
But go, love, go ! Yet remember this plan, 
That whoever dies first is to sit down and wait 
Inside death's door, and watch at the gate." 

X. 

Then I grew noble. Yea, I grew so tail 

I could almost reach to the golden hair 

Of that poor, pitiful Cyprian there. 

I did let my mantle of self-love fall. 

And I stood all naked, so weak, so small, 

I wondered that I could ever now dare 

Lift up my prayer to Heaven at all. . , , 

And 1 accepted her lesson. I said. 

With hands clasped down and declining head, 

" I will go, I will wait by the gates of the dead. 



74 SONGS OF ITALY. 

XI. 

" And you, O woman ! go patient on through 
The course that man hath compelled you to. 
Then back to your mother, the earth, my love ; 
Go, press to her bosom your beautiful brow. 
Till it blends with your clay, and so purifies 
Your flesh of the stains that so sully it now : 
Lie down in the loam, the populous loam, 
Yea, sleep for the eons with death ; then rise 
As white, as light as the wings of a dove, — 
And so made holy, oh love, come home ! 

xn. 

" Farewell for all time ! And now," I said, 
" What thing upon earth have I left to do ? 
Why, I shall go down through the gates of the 

dead. 
And wait for your coming your long life thro' — 
As you have commanded, lo ! I shall obey. 
I shall sit, I shall wait for you, love, alway ; 
Shall wait by the side of the gate for you, 
Waiting, and counting the days as I wait ; 
Shall wait as that beggar that sat by the gate 
Of Jerusalem, waiting the Judgment Day." 
Venice. 1874. 



IL CAPUCIN. 75 



IL CAPUCIN. 

I. 
/^NLY a basket for fruits or bread 

And the bits you divide with your dog, 

which you 
Had left from your dinner. The round year 

through 
He never once smiles. He bends his head • 
To the scorn of men. He gives the road 
To the grave ass groaning beneath his load. 
He is ever alone. Lo ! never a hand 
Is laid in his hand through the whole wide land. 
Save when a man dies, and he shrives him home. 
And that is the Capucin monk of Rome. 

n. 

He coughs, he is humped, and he hobbles about 
In sandals of wood. Then a hempen cord 
Girdles his loathsome gown. Abhorred ! 
Ay ! lonely, indeed, as a leper cast out. 
One gown in three years ! and — bah ! how he 
smells ! 



76 SONGS OF ITALY. 

He slept last night in his coffin of stone, 
This monk that coughs, this skin and bone, 
This living corpse from the damp cold cells. 
Yet, up in the morn, come storm or shine, 
And forth at four to wail at the shrine. 

m. 

Go ye where the Pincian, half-levelled down. 
The sixth of the seven rent hills of Rome, 
Slopes slow to the south. These men in brown 
Have a monkery there, quaint, builded of stone ; 
And, living or dead, 'tis the brown men's home. 
These dead brown monks that are living in Rome ! 

IV. 

You will hear wood sandals on the sounding floor, 
A cough, then the lift of a latch, then the door 
Groans open, and horror ! Four walls of stone 
Are gorgeous with flowers and frescos of bone ! 
There are bones in the corners and bones on the 

wall ; 
And he barks like a dog that watches his bone, 
This monk in brown from his bed of stone — 
Yea, barks, and he coughs, and that is all. 



IL CAPUCIN. 77 

V. 

At last he will cough as if up from his cell ; 
Will strut with considerable pride about, 
Will lead through his flowers of bone, and smell 
Their odors ; then talk, as he points them out, 
Of the virtues and deeds of the gents who wore 
The respective bones but the year before. 

Then he thaws at last, ere the bones are through, 
And talks and talks as he turns them about 
And stirs up a most uncomfortable smell ; 
Yea, talks of his brown dead brothers, till you 
Wish them, as they are no doubt, in — well, 
A very deep well. . . . And that maj^ be why, 
As he shows you the door and bows good-by, 
That he bows so low for a franc or two. 
To shrive their souls and to get them out — • 
These bony brown men who have their home, 
Dead or alive, in their cells in Rome. 

VI. 

What good does he do in the world ? Ah ! well, 
Now that is a puzzler. . . . But, listen ! He 

prays. 
His life is the fast of the forty days. 



78 SONGS OF ITALy. 

And then, when the thief and the beggar fell 
And had died in the way ; when the plague 

came down, — 
Christ ! who was it cried to these men in brown 
When other men fled? And what man was 

seen 
Stand firm to the death but the Capucin ? 

Rome, 1873. 



FAITH. 79 



FAITH. 



I. 



L^ORTY days and forty nights, 

Blown about the broken waters, 

Noah, and his sons and daughters ; 

Forty days they beat and blow — 

Forty days of faith, and lo ! 

The olive leaf, the lifted heights, 
The rest at last, the calm delights. 

11. 

Forty years of sun and sand, 
Serpents, beasts, and wilderness, 
Desolation and distress, 
War and famine, wail and woe — 
Forty years of faith, and lo ! 
The mighty Moses lifts a hand 
And shows at last the Promised Land. 



80 SONGS OF ITALY, 

in. 

Forty days to fast and pray, 
The patient Christ outworn defied 
The angry tempter at his side. 
Forty days or forty years 
Of patient sacrifice ana tears — 
Lo ! what are all of these the day 
That Time has nothing^ more to sav ? 

IV. 

Lift your horns, exult and blow, 
Believe and labor. Tree and vine 
Must flourish, ere the fruit and wine 
Reward your planting. Round and round 
The rocky walls, with faith profound. 

The trumpets blew ; blew loud, and lo ! 

The tumbled walls of Jericho. 

Milan, 1873. 



20 FLORENCE. iil 



TO FLORENCE. 

I. 

TF all God's world a garden were, 
And women were but flowers ; 
If men were bees that busied there 
Through all the summer hours, — 
Oh ! I would hum God's garden through, 
For honey, till I came to you. 

n. 

Then I should hive within your hair. 

Its sun and gold together ; 

And I should bide in glory there, 

Through all the changeful weather. 

Oh ! I should sip but one, this one 

Sweet flower underneath the sun. 
6 



82 SONGS OF ITALY, 



ni. 

Oh ! I would be a king, and coin 
Your golden hair for money ; 
And I would only have to seek 
Your lips for hoards of honey. 
Oh ! I would be the richest king 
That ever wore a signet-ring. 

Florence, 1874. 



FOR PAULINE. 83 



FOR PAULINE. 

I. 

T OVE me, love, but breatlie it low, 

Soft as summer weather ; 
If you love me, tell me so, 

As we sit together, 
Sweet and still as roses blow: 
Love me, love, but breathe it low. 

n. 

Tell me only with your eyes, 

Words are cheap as water, 
If you love me, looks and sighs 

Tell my mother's daughter 
More than all the world may know : 
Love me, love, but breathe it low. 



84 SOA'GS OF ITALY. 



ni. 

Words for others, storm and snow, 
Wind and changeful weather — 

Let the shallow waters flow 
Foaming on together ; 

But love is still and deep, and oh I 

Love me, love, but breathe it low. 

PiEVB Dr Cadoka, 1873. 



TO CARRIE A. S. 85 



TO CARRIE A. S. 

I. 

^ I ^HE sea-clove some twin shadow has, 
The lark has loves in seas of grass, 
The wild beast trumpets back his vow, 
The squirrel laughs along his bough ; 
But I, I am as lone, alas ! 
As yon white moon when white clouds pass ! 

As lonely and unloved, alas ! 

As clouds that weep and droop and pass. 

n. 

Oh, maiden ! singing over sweet 
At cottage door, in field of corn. 
Where woodbines twine for thy retreat — 
Sing sweet tlirough all thy summer morn. 
For love is landing at thy feet. 
On isle of vine, in seas of corn. 
But I, I am unloved and lorn. 
As winter winds of winter morn. 



86 SONGS OF ITALY. 

in. 

The ships, black-bellied, climb the sea, 
The seamen seek their loves on land, 
And love and lover, hand in hand, 
Go singing, glad as glad can be. 
But never more shall love seek me 
By breezy sea or broken land. 

By broken wild or willow tree, 
Nay, never more shall love seek me. 

Naples, 1872 



THE UNKNOWN TONGUE. 87 



THE UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

I. 

^ I ^HAT baby, I knew her in days of old. 

You doubt that I lived in a land made fair 
With many soft moons, and was mated there ? 
Now mark you ! I saw but to-day on the street 
A sw^eet gui-baby, whose delicate feet 
As yet upon earth took but uncertain hold ; 
Yet she carried a doll, and she toddled alone, 
And she talked to that doll in a tongue her own. 
The sweet little stranger ! why, her face still bore 
The look of the people from her far star-shore. 

n. 

Ah! you doubt me still? Then listen: While 

you 
Have looked to the earth for gold, why I — 
I have looked to the steeps of the starry sky. 
And which, indeed, had the fairer view 



88 SOjVGS of ITALY. 

Of the infinite things, the dreamer or you ? . . . 

How blind be men when they will not see ! 

If men must look in the dust, or look. 

At best, with the eyes bound down to a book, 

Why, who shall deny that it comes to me 

To sail white ship through the ether sea ? 

ni. 
Yea, I am a dreamer. Yet while you dream. 
Then I am awake. When a child, back through 
The gates of the past I peered, and I knew 
The land I had lived in. I saw a broad stream ; 
Saw rainbows that compassed a world in their 

reach ; 
I saw my beloved go down on the beach ; 
Saw her lean to this earth, saw her looking for me 
As shipmen look from their ships at sea. . . . 
The sweet girl-baby ! Why, that unknown 

tongue 
Is the tongue she has talked since the stars were 

young. 

Naples, 1873. 



UNICA-JETERNA. 89 



UNICA-iETERNA. 

I. 

T DREAMED, O Queen, of thee last night ; 

I can but dream of thee to-day. 
But dream ? Oh ! I could kneel and pray 
To one, who, like a tender light, 
Leads ever on my lonesome way, 
And will not pass — yet will not stay. 

II. 

I di'eamed, Princess, regal Queen, 
That I had followed thee afar, 
And faithful, as my polar star ; 
But then, as now, I had not seen 
The day I dared draw near to thee, 
But followed, worshipped, silently. 

III. 

I dreamed we roamed in elden land ; 
I saw you walk in splendid state. 
With lifted head and heart elate, 
And lilies in your white right hand. 



90 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Beneath the proud Saint Peter's dome 
That, silent, lords almighty Rome. 

V. 

A diamond star was in your hair, 
Your garments were of gold and snow ; 
And men did turn and marvel so. 
And men did say, How matchless fair ! 
And all men followed as you pass'd ; 
But I came silent, lone, and last. 

V. 

And holy men in sable gown. 

And girt with cord, and sandal shod. 

Did look to thee, and then to God. [down; 

They crossed themselves, with heads held 

They chid themselves, in fear that they 

Should, seeing thee, forget to pray. 

VI. 

Men pass'd, men spake in wooing word ; 
Men pass'd, ten thousand in a line. 
You stood before the sacied shrine. 
You stood as if you had not heard. 
And then 3'ou turned in calm command. 
And laid tAVo lilies in mv hand. 



UNICA-jETERNA. 91 

vn. 

O Lady, if by sea or land 
You yet might weary of all men, 
And turn unto your singer then, 
And lay one lily in his hand, — 
Lo ! I would follow true and far 
As seamen track the polar star. 

VIII. 

My soul is young, my heart is strong ; 
O Lady, reach a hand to-day, 
And thou shalt walk the milky- way, 
For I will give thy name to song. 
Lo ! I am of the kings of thought, 
And thou shalt live when kings are not. 

IX. 

Oh, reach a hand, your hand in mine ! 

Wliy, I could sing as never man 

Has sung since prophec}^ began ! 

And thou should'st be both song and shrine. . . . 

And yet I falter in thy sight, 

And dare not breathe the thought I write. 



92 SONGS OF ITALY. 



SIROCCO. 



I. 



^ I ^HERE were black clouds crossing the Alps, 

and they 
Rolled straight upon Venice. Then far away, 
As if catching new breath and gathering strength 
In the JEgean hills, on the pall of the day. 
Stood the terrible Thunder. Then hip and thigh 
He smote all heaven, and the lightning leapt 
Like red swords thrust through the night full 

length — 
Swords thrust through the black heart of night 

as he slept ! 
Then ribbon and skein kept threading the sky ; 
Then, ere you scarcely had time to think, 
The sea lay darkling and black as ink. 



SIROCCO. 93 

II. 

Tlien many a sail, tri-colored, and cross'd 
By the lone sad cross of Calvary, 
Drove by us and dwindled to blinding speck3 % 
Drove straight in the grinning white teeth of the 

sea, 
Like lonesome spirits, forlorn and lost. 
Then a ship with my stars of the West ! and then 
There were golden crescents, tall turbaned men 
All silent and devil-like keeping the decks ; 
Then hearse-like gondolas hurried about. 
As if sniffing the storm with their lifted snout. 

Venice, 1874. 



94 SONGS OF ITALY. 



PACE IMPLORA. 



I. 



"D ETTER it were to abide by the sea, 

Loving somebody, and satisfied ; 
Better it were to grow babes on the knee, 
To anchor you down for all your days, 
Than to wander and wander in all these ways, 
Land-forgotten and love-denied. 
Yea, better to live as the mountaineers live. 
Than entreat of the gods what they will not give. 

n. 

Better sit still where born, I say. 
Wed one sweet woman and love her well. 
Love and be loved in the old East way. 
Drink sweet waters, and dream in a spell. 
Than to wander in search of the Blessed Isles, 
And to sail the thousands of watery miles 
In the search of love, and find you at last 
On the edge of the world, and a curs'd outcast. 



PACE IMPLORA. 95 

in. 

Yea, laugh with your neighbors, live in their way 
Be it never so humble. The humbler the home, 
The braver, indeed, to brunt the fray. 
Share their delights and divide your tears, 
Love and be loved for the full round years. 
As men once loved in the young world's pride, 
Ere men knew madness and came to roam, — 
When they lived where their fathers had lived 

and died. 
Lived and so loved for a thousand years. 

IV. 

Better it were for the world, I say, 
Better indeed for a man's own good. 
That he should sit still where he was born, 
Be it land of sand, or of oil and corn. 
White sea-border or great black wood. 
Bleak white winter or bland sweet May, — 
Than to wander the world, as I have done. 
For the one dear woman that is under the sun. 



96 SONGS OF ITALY. 

V. 

Better abide, though the skies be dun, 
And the rivers espoused of the ice and snow ; 
Better abide, though the thistles grow. 
And the city of smoke be obscured of the sun, 
Than to seek red poppies and the sweet dream- 
land — 
Than to wander the world as I to-day, 
Breaking the heart into bits like clay, 
And leaving it scattered upon every hand. 

Venice, 1874. 



ALONE. &7 



ALONE. 

I. 

T AM as lone as lost winds on the height ; 

As lone as yonder leaning moon at night, 
That climbs, like some sad noiseless-footed nun, 
Far up against the steep and starry height. 
As if on holy mission. Yea, as one 
That knows no ark, or isle, or resting-place, 
Or chronicle of time, or Avheeling sun, 
I drive for ever on through endless space. 
Like some lone bird in everlasting flight, 
My lonesome soul sails on through lonesome seas 

of night. 

n. 

Alone in sounding hollows of the sea ; 
Alone on lifted, heaving hills of foam : 
To never rest \ to ever rise and roam 
Where never kind or kindred soul may be ; 

7 



m SONGS OF ITALY. 

To roam where ships of commerce never ride, 
Sail on, and so forget the rest of shore ; 
To hear the waves complain, as if they died ; 
To see the vast waves heave for evermore ; 
To know that no ships cross or measure these. 
My shoreless, chartless, strange, and most un- 
common seas. 

Cadora, 1873. 



IMPLORA, 99 



IMPLORA. 

I. 

/^H! who art tliou, veiled shape? My soul 

cries out 
Through mist and storm. Lean thou to me ! 
Come nearer, thou, that I may feel and see 
Thy wounded side, and so forget all doubt ! 
How terrible the night ! I kneel to thee ; 
I clasp thy knees ; would clamber to thy hair. 
As one shipwrecked on some broad, broken sea, 
Through intermingled oaths and awful shout. 
Uplifts white hands and prays in his despair, — 
So now my curses break into a prayer. 

Bellagio, 1874. 



100 SONGS OF ITALY, 



THE QUEST OF LOVE. 

I. 

"D EHOLD ! my quest has brought but rue 
and rime ! 

I loved the blushing, bounding, singing Spring : 

She scarce would pause a day to hear me sing. 

I loved her sister, gorgeous, golden Summer- 
time : 

She gathered close her robes and rustled past. 

Through yellow fields of corn. She scorned to 
cast 

One tender look of love or hope behind ; 

But, sighing, died upon the Autumn wind. 

Oh, then I loved the vast, the lonesome Night : 

She, too, passed on in scorn, and perished from 
my sight. 

n. 

Oh ! lives there nought on all the girdled world, 

That may survive one day its sorry birth? 

The very Moon grows thin and hunger-curled ; 

The ardent Sun forgets his love of Earth, 



THE QUEST OF LOVE. 101 

And turns, dark-browed, and draws his reached 

arms back, 
The while she, mourning, moves on, clad in 

black. 
But list ! I once did hear the good priest tell 
That hell is everlasting. Oh, my friend. 
To know that there is aught that may not end ! 
Now let us kneel and give God thanks that hell 

is hell. 

Lake Como, August, 1873. 



102 SONGS OF ITALY. 



O LOVE! 

I. 

^ I ^HE long days through I sit and sigh, alas ! 
For love ! Lone, beggar-like, beside the 
way 
I sit forlorn in lanes where Day must pass. 
I stretch imploring palms toward the Day, 
And cry, " O Day ! but give me love ! I die 
For love ! I let all other gifts go by. 
Yea, bring me but one love that runs to waste, 
One love that men pass by in heedless haste. 
And I will kiss thy feet and ask no more 
From all To-morrow's rich, mysterious store." 

n. 

The drear days mock me in my mute request ; 
The dark years roll like breakers on the shore. 
And die in futile thunder. As in jest. 
They bring bright, empty shells, — bring nothing 
more. 



O LOVE I 103 

Oh, say ! is sweet Love dead and hid from all 
Who would disdain a colder touch than his ? 
Then show me where Love lies. Put back the 

pall. 
Lo ! I will fall upon his face and kiss 
Sweet Love to life again ; or I will lie, 
Lamenting, prone beside his dust, and die. 

Ancona, 1874. 




104 SONGS OF ITALY, 



AFTER THE BOAR HUNT. 

I. 

'^ I ^WERE better blow trumpets 'gainst love, 

keep away 
That traitorous urchin with fire or shower, 
Or fair or foul means you may have in your 

power, 
Than have him come near you for one little 

hour. 
Take physic, consult with your doctor, as you 
Would fight a contagion ; carry all through 
The populous day some drug that smells loud. 
As you pass on your way, or make way through 

the crowd. 
Talk war, or carouse : only keep off the day 
Of his coming, with every true means in your 

way. 



AFTER THE BOAR-HUNT. 105 

n. 

Blow smoke in the eyes of the world, and laugh 
With the broad-chested men, as you loaf at your 

inn, 
As you crowd to your inn from your saddles, 

and quaff 
The red wine from a horn ; while your dogs at 

your feet, 
Your slim spotted dogs, like the fawn, and as 

fleet. 
Crouch patiently by and look up at your face, 
As they wait for the call of the horn to the 

chase : 
For you shall not suffer, and you shall not sin, 
Until peace goes out and till love comes in. 

m. 

Love horses and hounds, meet many good men — 
Yea, men are most proper, and keep you from 

care. 
There is strength in a horse. There is pride in 

his will : 
It is sweet to look back as you climb the steep hill. 



106 SONGS OF ITALY, 

There is room. You have movement of limb ; 

you have air, 
Have the smell of the wood, of the grasses : and i 

then 
What comfort to rest, as you lie thrown at 

length 
All night and alone, with your fists full of 

strength ! 

TuKiN, 1874. 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 107 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE, 

I. 

A H, how one wanders ! Yet after it all, 

When you really have nought of account 
to say, 
It is better, perhaps, to pull leaves by the way ; 
See the wide moons ride, or the small stars fall, 
Nor keep down to the earth with the dust on 

the feet, 
Upon time-worn levels that do tire one 
With very perfection of rest and retreat. 
That the great world walks all the days of the sun. 

n. 

And then, too, in Venice ! dear moth-eaten town ; 
One palace of pictures ; great frescos spilled down 
Outside of the walls from the fulness thereof: 
How can one go on? Let laugh and let scoff; 
Sit down by my side and let all time pass. 



108 SONGS OF ITALY. 

By the tranquil bride of the tranquil seas, 
By the white bride born of steel and of storm, 
And of iron-footed old tyrannies, 
We two will sit ; and her beautiful form 
Shall shine in the sea as her bridal glass. 

Venice, 1873. 



TO THE LION OF ST. MARK. 109 



TO THE LION OF SAINT MARK. 

I. 

T KNOW you, lion of gray Saint Mark ; 

You fluttered the seas beneath your wing, 
Were king of the seas with never a king. 
Now over the deep and up in the dark, 
High over the girdles of bright gas-light, 
With wings in the air as if for flight, 
And crouching as if about to spring 
From top of your granite of Africa, — 
Say, what shall be said of you some day ? 

n. 
What shall be said, O grim Saint Mark, 
Savage old beast so crossed and churled. 
By the after men from the under-world ? 
What shall be said as they search along 
And sail these seas for some sign or spark 
Of the old dead fires of the dear old days, 
When men and story have gone their ways. 
Or even your city and name from song ? 



110 SONGS OF ITALY. 

m. 

Why, sullen old monarcli of stilled Saint Mark, 
Strange men of the "West, wise-mouthed and 

strong. 
Will come some day and, gazing long 
And mute with wonder, will say of thee : 
" This is the Saint ! High over the dark, 
Foot on the bible and great teeth bare. 
Tail whipped back and teeth in the air — 
Lo ! this is the Saint, and none but he ! '* 

Venice, 1873. 



TO THE LION OF ST. MARK AGAIN, 111 



TO THE LION OF ST. MARK AGAIN. 

I. 
OPHINX-LIKE lion, art prophet, or what? 

Nay, Noah or prophet art thou of St. Mark. 
But, king of the desert or slave of the sea. 
What thou hast been or what shalt be. 
What thou art now or what art not. 
In city at sea or darkling ark, — 
Lead us and land us on some sweet shore. 
Some new-washed summit where olives are green, 
And never the visage of sorrow is seen 
For eVer and ever and evermore : 

II. 

To the Isles of the Blest by the Isles of Greece, 
And on and beyond, where the great moon's face 
Bends low and large to the golden grain 
The whole year through ; where death nor pain, 
Nor any loud thought has name or place, — 
To the land of olives, to the land of peace. 
Lead us and land us, oh that were best, 
To the land of love and the land of rest. 



112 SOJVGS OF ITALY, 



m. 

Is there rest upon earth ? Ah, brazen king, 
Set a-top of the town with glittering wing, 
Say ! King of Assyria, set king of the sea, 
Now what do yon read from the prophecy ? 
And what says thy book ? And what were best ? 
Oil say, from thy pulpit set high in the air, 
When is the harvest of love and where ? 
And where is the land, and when is the rest ? 

IV. 
Floating in flood of salt sea-foam. 
And seeking for what ? For the golden fleece ? 
For the land of giants ? For the sea-lost moon ? 
For the land of eternal afternoon ? 
Or the gates of Hell or of Hercules ? 
Oh ! wrinkled old lion that tops Saint Mark, 
A home on the seas were never a home. 
Lo ! here are the doves, let this be the ark : 
Now where is the olive, and when is the peace ? 

Venice, 1874. 



AT NIGHT UNDER ST. MARK'S LION, 113 



UNDER THE LION OF SAINT MARK 
AT NIGHT. 



I. 

r^ TERRIBLE lion of tamed Saint Mark ! 
Tamed old lion with the tumbled mane 
Toss d to the clouds and lost in the dark, 
With high-held wings and tail whipped back, 
Foot on the bible as if thy track 
Led thee the lord of the seas again, — 
Say, what of thy watch o'er the watery town ? 
Say, what of the worlds walking up and down? 

n. 

O silent old monarch that tops Saint Mark, 
That sat thy throne for a thousand years, 
That lorded the deep, that defied all men, — 
Lo ! I see visions at sea in the dark ; 

8 



114 SONGS OF ITALY. 

And I see something that shines like tears, 
And I hear something that sounds like sighs, 
And I hear something that sounds as when 
A great soul suffers and sinks and dies. 

Venice, 1873. 



TO ST. BARBARA OF VENICE. 115 



TO SANTA BARBARA OF VENICE. 



I. 

T'XT'HERE is my beauty? Oh where is my 

bride 
Of the old dim days ere the gleaming snows 
Sat tent on the Alps? The poppies red 
In the golden days were my bridal bed. 
Oh, bring me my bride where the white sea flows, 
And the yellow sail blows to the Lido's side. 
I lift you my hands and I pray to you ; 
I name you my saint for this whole year through. 
Oh, bring me my bride, for that were best ; 
This were my heaven, and that were my rest. 

n. 

Saint Joseph ! My horse ! To my forests of fir I 
My senses run mad at the mention of her. . . . 
You had better be careless. What comes of it 



' 116 SONGS OF ITALY. 

That you do take care ? . . . Nay, call for your 

steed, 
Heigh boot and heigh horse, and away with a 

will; 
Clutch the rein, seize your horse in his hair and 

speed 
Where the hounds call bugle calls over the hill , 
And behold ! I will follow, for it is not fit 
That a man sit singing sad rhymes all day 
As a love-sick swain or a maiden may. 



A STORM IN VENICE, 117 



A STORM IN VENICE. 

I. 

'T^HE pent sea throbbed as if wracked with 

pain. 
Some black clouds rose and suddenly rode 
Right into the town. The thunder strode 
As a giant striding from star to star, 
Then turned upon earth and frantically came, 
Shaking the hollow heaven. And far 
And near red lightning in ribbon and skein 
Did write upon heaven Jehovah's name. 

II. 

Then lightnings went weaving like shuttle-cocks, 
Weaving black raiment of clouds for death ; 
The mute doves flew to Saint Mark in flocks, 
And men stood leaning with gathered breath. 
Black gondolas flew as never before, 
And drew like crocodiles up on the shore ; 



tl8 



SOA^GS OF ITALY. 



A.nd vessels at sea stood further at sea, 
And seamen hauled with a bended knee. 
Then canvas came down to left and to right ; 
And ships stood stripped as if stripped for fight ! 



\ 



A HAIL-STORM IN VENICE. 119 



A HAIL STORM IN VENICE. 

I. 

'THHE hail like cannon-shot struck the sea 

And churned it white as a creamy foam ; 
Then hail like battle-shot struck where we 
Stood looking a-sea from a sea-girt home — 
Came shooting askance as if shot at the head ; * 
Then glass flew shivered and men fell down 
And prayed where they fell, and half the town 
Lay riddled and helpless as if shot dead. 

II. 

Then lightning right full in the eyes ! and then 
Fair women fell down right flat on the face, 
And prayed their pitiful Mother with tears, 
And prayed black death as a hiding-place ; 



120 SONGS OF ITALY. 

And good priests prayed for the sea-bound men 
As never good priests had prayed for years. . . , 
Then God spake thunder ! And then the rain ! 
The great, white, beautiful, high-born rain I 



FAREWELL TO ST. MARK'S LION. 121 



FAREWELL TO THE LION OF SAINT 

MARK. 

I. 

^ I ^HERE are sobs of the sea, there is blown 

black rain. 
Lo ! under the lion and alone in the dark, 
Shall I stand as I stand by this sea again ? 
Yet trait'rous old lion that lords Saint Mark, 
I curse you and hate you as ever I can ; 
I curse you and hate you my whole heart thro', 
Your bible, your book with its Rights of Man : 
For I named you my saint, and I praj^ed to you. 
And where is my love, and who has been true ? 

n. 

O vain old lion of lonesome Saint Mark, 
With cornice in fashion of blown sea-foam, 
High-lifted and light as white clouds in the 

dark, — 
When is the rest, and oh where is my home ? 



122 SOiVGS OF ITALY. 

Thy brass steeds plunge through the dark in stu 
There are seas to the left and seas to the right, 
Front and aback there is nothing but flood, 
Nothing but billows and nothing but night. 

ni. 

City at sea, thou art surely an ark. 
Sea-blown and,a-wreck in the rain and dark. 
Lo I white sea-caps that are toss'd and curled. 
Thy sins they were many — and behold the 

flood ! 
And here and about us are the beasts in stud, 
Creatures and beasts that creep and go. 
Enough, a}^ and wicked enough I know. 
To populate or devour a world. 

IV. 

O wrinkled old lion, looking down 

With brazen frown upon mine and me, 

From tower a-top of your watery town, 

Old king of the desert, made king of the sea : 

Lo ! here is a lesson for thee to-day. 

Proud and immovable monarch, I say, 

Lo I here is a lesson to-day for thee 

Of the things that were and the things to be. 



FAREWELL TO ST. MARK'S LION. 123 

V. 

Dank palaces held by the populous sea 
For the good dead men, all covered with shell, — 
We will pay them a visit some day ; and we. 
We may come to love their old palaces well. 
BaL = toppled old columns that tumble across, 
Toss'd in the waters that lift and fall. 
Waving in waves long masses of moss. 
Toppled old columns, — and that will be all. 

VI. 

Yea, surly old beast with a wrinkled brow, 
Sullen old sea-king courting the tide. 
Proud old monarch set high in the sea, — 
This is the lesson it leaves for thee : 
Nothing has been that abideth now, 
Nothing is now but will not be, 
Nothing shall be that shall abide. 

Venice, 1874. 



124 SOJVGS OF ITALY. 



B 



AFTER ALL. 

1. 

Y the populous land, on the lonesome sea, 
Lo ! these were the gifts of the gods to I 



men, — 
Three miserable gifts, and only three : 
To love, to forget, to die — and then? 

II. 

To love in peril and in bitter-sweet pain. 
And then, forgotten, lie down and die : 

One moment of sun, whole seasons of rain. 
Then night is rolled to the door of the sky. 

in. 

To love ? To sit at her feet and to weep ; 

To climb to her face, hide your face in her hair ; 
To nestle you there like a babe in its sleep. 

And, too, like a babe, to believe — it stings 
there ! 



AFTER ALL. 125 



IV. 

To love ? 'Tis to suffer. " Lie close to my breast, 
Like a fair ship in haven, O darling," I cried, 

^' Your round arms outreaching to heaven for rest 
Make signal to death." . . . Death came, and 
love died. 

V. 

To forget ? To forget, mount horse and clutch 
sword, 
Take ship and make sail to the ice-prison'd seas. 
Write books and preach lies; range lands; or 
go hoard 
A grave full of gold, and buy wines — and 
drink lees: 

VI. 

Then die ; and die cursing, and call it a prayer ! 

Is earth but a top — a boy-god's delight. 
To be spun for his pleasure, while man's despair 

Breaks out like a wail of the damned through 
the night? 



126 SONGS OF ITALY. 



vn. 



Sit down in the darkness and weep with me 
On the edge of the world. Lo, love lies dead I 

And the earth and the sky, and the sky and the 
sea, 
Seem shutting together as a book that is read. 

vm. 

Yet what have we learned ? We laughed with 
delight 
In the morning at school, and kept toying with 
all 
Time's silly playthings. Now, wearied ere night, 
We must cry for dark-mother, her cradle the 
pall. 

RoMB, 1874. 



MAIME MIA, 127 



MAIME MIA. 

T^HE quest of love? 'Tis the quest of 

troubles ; 
'Tis the wind through the woods of the Oregon. 
Sit down, sit down, for the world goes on 
Precisely the same ; and the rainbow bubbles 
Of love, they gather, or break, or blow, 
Whether you bother your brain or no ; 
And for all your troubles, and all your tears, 
'Twere just the same in a hundred years. 

Rome, 1874. 



128 SONGS OF ITALY. 



THE WINGED LION ONCE MORE. 



The Venetians will tell you that this wonderful work of art 
was fashioned in Babylon by tlie sons of Nimrod. Also, that 
before it was taken from Venice by Napoleon the Great its 
eyes were made of diamonds, so large and luminous that they 
lighted up all that part of the city. 

Mr. Ruskin says there is no authority for giving this won- 
derful creation such great antiquity. He is inclined to call 
it the work of the thirteenth century; but equally without 
authority, as he admits. To me it is the most simple and 
sublime thing in the world. Seen in the night, high over the 
sea and the circle of gaslights, the broken clouds blowing over 
the large low moon — it is worth a journey round the world 
to behold it ! 

I must admit that, in the many verses to my grand old 
idol, I have been careless of facts. In truth, I know little 
about the history of the Lion of St. Mark save what the Ve- 
netians told me. I never owned a guide-book ; and I never 
in ail my travels read a book on Art. In fact, I met so many 
frols who had read books on Art, that I was afraid to try the 
experiment. 

Napoleon had the lion taken down from tlie column wlieie 
it had stood for nearly five hundred years ; and in the open 
book, on which the foot is planted, he caused to be written 
" The Rights of Man." 

When the lion was restored, the Venetians said, " It is 
indeed our dear old lion, only he has turned over a new- 
leaf 1 " 



THE WINGED LION ONCE MORE, 120 



I. 

"X T 7INGED old beast of the burning sands, 

Captive and rover of north-south lands : 
Saj, what saw you in the land of the Gaul ? 
In the days when they clutched at thy mane, 

and when 
They wrote in thy bible the Rights of Men ? 
Wrote them and read them, — and that was all. 

n. 

What saw 3''ou in that land, I say. 
That land of change, and of gifted mad men ? 
Silent old lion, say, what have you seen ? 
Nothing but gleaming of steel, I ween, 
Nothing but marching of men, as when 
Men shall march in the Judgment Day. 

III. 
This is the story the wliole world through. 
Austrian or Frank, or king or queen. 
In the name of freedom to plunder you : 
Nay, nothing but this has au}^ man seen 
In your watery world where might has been 

right. 
Since God first reached from the dark the light. 



130 SONGS OF ITALY. 

IV. 

Rumbling of cannon and neighing of steed — 
The worship of strength. Lo ! Tuscan and Gaul, 
They were gods in their turn. Glory and greed 
Did set and unsettle thy whole world's creed ; 
And thy Christ, O lion, did rise and fall 
By the feats of strength. Take heed, take heed, 
Lest thy God shall depend on a cannon ball ! 

Venice, 1874. 



CAVALIER vs. CAVALIER, 131 



CAVALIER vs, CAVALIER. 

I. 

"I^TO, no wliit jealous of him was I: 

I had sat at his table, tasted his wine, 
Broken his bread, as he had mine — 
And I would to heaven I had broken his head I 
I had shot at him once, and let him try 
His hand meantime ten paces at me. 
He missed his mark, while I you see, 
At the last year's carnival down at Rome, 
Troubled his seconds to carry him home. 

n. 

Well, it fell out thus in a revelry : 

We had sat at his table the whole night through, 

There were vessels of gold, great cups, mark you, 

That were sacred indeed unto better things 

Than midnight orgies and revellings ; 

Then at morn he said, as he toss'd his wine. 



132 SOuVCS OF ITALY, 

Tauntingly, too, of this love of mine, 
" A woman to win ! the way is free ! 
I have my gold, you have your wit — 
Time will tell us what comes of it I " 



A PRINCE OF ROME. 133 



A PRINCE OF ROME. 

I. 

A Y, dashing is he indeed, and bold 

As any young Csesar, and handsome too. 
And when he enters the proudest hall, 
He doffs his hat, for he stands so tall. . . . 
But where do you reckon he got his gold? 
Now it might have been from that galleon 
That sank, as we know, an age ago 
Off the gray coast of Mexico. 

n. 

But listen to me. One morn last year, 
When he did not limp for that taunt and sneer 
At my one fair love, — we were strangers then, 
And I knew him only as a prince of men, — 
Why, we two rode the Campagna plain 
That stretches away to the west of Rome, 
When sudden he turned to St. Peter's dome, 
And, stretching his hand toward the Vatican, 
He laughed like a giant, he cursed like a man : 
Cried, "Gold!" then sank to liis saddle ngaiu. 



134 SONGS OF ITALY, 

ni. 

A curious old Spanish proverb says 
That many and various are the bits of leather 
Saint Crispin uses to make one boot ; 
And that never was boot without its foot, 
To fit it as neat as a glove, and suit 
The one to the other in all the ways. 
Well, then, put this and put that together, 
Fragments of fact like fragments of leather. 
And know in the end what you may know 
Of that same prince Pimos from Mexico. 

lY. 

Well, this is the story that a brown monk tells, 

A gray-bearded Capucin monk of Rome, 

Who hobbles about in the bleak bone cells. 

In that strange old nest of the Capucin ; 

For much he has journey 'd and much he has seea : 

One time, on the borders of Mexico, 

A grizzled old seaman came bent and slow, 

And leading a boy, and imploring a home, 

Outholding two handsfull of gold for it ; 

Two great hands shaking like an ague fit. 



A PRINCE OF ROME, 135 



V. 

They smiled at his gold, as the good monks do, 

But gave him a home, with all their heart ; 

And no one questioned and no one cared 

What his history, place, or part — 

Only to know that the wayfarer shared 

Their home content. The bright boy grew 

Into man's estate, but wild as the wind ; 

And, leaving the convent walls behind. 

Oft he would wander the Avhole year through : 

But why he wandered away, or where. 

There was none to question, and but one to care. 

VI. 

Well, there be men who are ready to swear 
That they saw this same prince years ago, 
With his princely air and his princely ease, 
Astride of his mule, with his saddle-bow 
Swung with pistols, as he rode on down 
The mountain trail to the mountain town : 
His long hair blown in the mountain breeze, 
And a brigand's badge of command high blown 
From his feathered hat as he rode alone. 



136 SONGS OF ITALY. 



vn. 

Then long he ranged in his journeys and far 
Over mountains that climbed to the morning 

star. 
And the old man died ; but the boy was away, — 
Robbing ? — or trading? It is much the same : 
The same result with a different name. 
The shopman he robs you from day to day, 
Little by little, that you may not reck ; 
Robs you by lies, risks body and soul : 
The dashing bold robber he takes the whole, 
Tells you the truth, and but risks his neck. 



vm. 

. . . And mark ! as he rode with the king last year 
Through a marsh of the Tiber, a buffalo, 
Humped-backed and horrible, plunged at his 

steed. 
When the king struck spurs, and fled in fear. 
But he, whipping his lasso as quick as thought, 
Threw it, and throttled the beast on the spot. 
And who, my prince, I should like to know, 
But a vulgar vaquero could do such a deed ? 



A PRIXCE OF ROME. 137 

IX. 

But, where did he get his gold ? this prince, — 
The bright gold eagle and the old doubloon, 
The old gold plate, and the great gold spoon, 
And the tall gold goblet, and the quaint gold cup 
That star his table when he comes to sup ? 
The gold alone is the question, since 
Here, in Italy, princes are — well. 
Princes are thicker than fiddlers in hell. 

Home, 1873. 



138 SONGS OF ITALY. 



GAMBLER OR PRINCE? 

I. 

"XTOW some have said, and so may you, 

It was nobody's business, while the man 
could hold 
His head like a prince and bear him true, 
Where the gambler picked up his gold. 
Or whether the prince was a prince or not. 
And then, when it cost you a pistol shot 
To ask the question, 'twas overbold 
To question at all. But then my friend 
Would knoAV who he was ; and he fought to this 
end. 

II. 

One night, as he sat with his goblets of gold, 
He mentioned the name of my brave friend's sire ; 
And very complacently sat and told 
That he himself was this great mart's son. 
Vengeance and fury ! My friend was on fire ! 
The man sprang up as if shot from a gun, 



GAMBLER OR PRINCE. 139 

And he thrust the lie in his teeth ; and then 

Asked where was his family founded, and when? 

He then sat down, and a pistol shot 

Was all the answer that any one got. 

They fought at dawn : shot square thro' the head, 

The gypsy-stol'n brother and prince lay dead. 

Naples, 1874. 



140 SONGS OF ITALY. 



A PEASANT'S PLEA. 

I. 

T TAD he made her his spouse like a man, why 

then, 
Still might he cloff his tall plume to men ; 
Had he loved like a prince, had she loved him 

true. 
Why, I could have waited her life-time through ; 
Could have crossed and have waited on the other 

side. 
With my two hands held to my coming bride : 
For the days of the earth they be but a day 
That lie like a shadow across life's way, 
And a brief nis^ht-land that divides the sea 
Of the years that were from the years to be. 

II. 

But to know that she lay in his arms in sin, 
That the great strong beast arose from the feast 
And went to my bride he had bought with his 
gold ! . . . 



A PEASANT'S PLEA. 141 

Ha I the night after that — why, they called in a 

priest 
To pray for a prince who was found all cold 
In a narrow canal, with his head crushed in — 
Perhaps by a tile ! . . . Oh, the blessed sweet 

pain 
Of revenge, as I fled to my mountains again I 

Milan, 1873. 



142 SONGS OF ITALY. 



A DREAM OF VENICE. 

I. 
^ I ^HERE are doves overhead, going in, blow- 
ing out ; 
They are wooing and cooing and talking of love, 
The white and the gray and the purple-robed 

dove. 
They are billing and cooing and flying about 
By the high chiselled capital, cornice, and that : 
And I envy them, hate them, I curse thereat. 
And I call " Oh, my love ! " Cold echoes come 

back 
As if hurled from the walls and sent hounding 
my track. 

n. 

Now let us turn back from the watery town ; 
Let the water-rat build ; let the cornice above 
Change color from clouds of the purple-necked 

dove ; 
Let the yellow-sailed sea-craft ride pleasantly 

down. 



A DREAM OF VENICE. 143 

Let the soft morning sun lie in long broken 

bars 
'Gainst the tall palace walls. Let us go from 

the land 
Of the bride of my soul with the small dimpled 

hand, 
That I led through the outermost reach of red 

stars. 



144 SONGS OF ITALY. 



FOR THE NILE. 

I. 

AT 7HAT ! turn me fi'om Venice ? To leave 

her at last ! 
This city I loved in my search through tlie vast 
And the unnamed seas of the universe ? 
To turn me for aye from this face of hers? 
St. Joseph! To dream it could come to this! 
You never have known, then, what love is ! 

II. 

I am lone as Marius 'mid ruins could be. 
Yea, a sea of fair people that walk by the sea 
In the cool of the morn by St. Mark ; and they 

talk 
Of the things that are nearest the heart as they 

walk, 
And all are made glad. But, Christ ! as for me I 



FOR THE NILE. 145 

III. 

Lo ! I shall depart and I know not where ; 
Let the men be brave, let the maids be fair, 
Let the wrinkled old lion that tops the town 
Now ruffle his mane, St. Theodore frown, — 
It is nothing to me. I shall love but the one, 
This one fair city that is under the sun. 

IV. 

I shall bear her afar and anywhere ; 
I have hid my heart in the gold of her hair. . . . 
Her fair holy face, her great soft eyes. 
Liquid with love. Her soul's surprise, 
Then the calm delight that the world is aware 
When she rests in ruins, like the curtains of 
skies. 

Venice, 1874. 



146 SONGS OF ITALY. 



VESPERS IN SAN MARCO. 

^ I^HE four brazen horses ! unbridled as when 
This Venice was Venice, and the wise 

led the brave 
Through the gates of the Turk, through the 

turbulent main, 
And led the steeds home from the Hellespont, — 
They plunge in the gaslight as bridled again. 
The vast ducal palace frowns dark in the wave, 
The white Bridge of Sighs — a brief, narrow 

span — 
Draws back in a chasm. The grand gilded 

dome, 
Where the doves of St. Mark all the year have 

their home, 
Sounds hollow and deep like a far plashing 

font. 



RECOLLECTION. 14*7 



RECOLLECTION. 

I. 

TT 7E dwelt in the woods of tlie Tippecanoe, 
In a lone lost cabin with never the view 
Of the full day's sun for the whole year thro' . . . 
With strange half-hints through the russet corn 
We children were hurried one night. Next 

morn 
There was frost in the trees, and a sprinkle of 

snow, 
And tracks on the ground. Three boys below 
The low eaves listened. We opened the door, 
And a girl baby cried, — and then we were four. 

n. 

We were not sturdy, and we were not wise 
In the things of the world or the ways of men. 
A pale-browed mother with a prophet's eyes, 
A father that dreamed and looked anywhere. 



148 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Three brothers, — wild blossoms, tall-fashioned 

and fair ; 
And we mingled with none, but we lived as 

when 
The pair first lived ere they knew the fall ; 
And, loving all things, we believed in all. 

ni. 

Ah ! girding yourself and throwing your strength 
On the front of a forest that stands in mail 
Sounds gallant, indeed, in a pioneer's tale. 
But, God in heaven ! the weariness 
Of a sweet soul banished to a life like this I 
This reaching of weary- worn arms full length ; 
This stooping all day to the stubborn cold soil — 
This holding the heart ! it is more than toil ! 
What loneness of heart ! What wishings to die 
In that soul in the earth, that was born for the 
sky! 

IV. 

We parted wood-curtains, pushed westward, and 

we, 
Why, we wandered and wandered a half year 

through ; 



RECOLLECTION. 149 

We tented with herds as the Arabs do, 

And at last sat down by the sundown sea. 

Then there in that sun did my soul take fire ! 

It burned in its fervor, thou Venice, for thee ! 

My glad heart glowed with the one desire 

To stride to the front, to live, to be I 

To strow great thoughts through the world as 

I went, 
As God sows stars tlirough the firmament. 

Venice, 1874. 



150 SONGS OF ITALY. 



TORGELLO. 

'THHE sometime song of gondolier 
Is heard afar. The fishermen 
Betimes draw net by ruined shore, 
In full spring-time when east winds fall ; 
Then traders row with muffled oar, 
Then long-leg birds stretch neck, and then — 
Tedesca or the turban'd Turk, 
The pirate, at some midnight work 
By watery wall, — but that is all. 



Note. — The author begs to apologize for reprinting from 
an earlier volume this and the two following pieces, which 
appropriately belong to "Songs of Italy." 



ATTILA'S THRONE. 151 



ATTILA'S THRONE: TORCELLO. 

I. 

T DO recall some sad days spent 

By borders of the Orient, 
Days sweet as sad to memory . . . 
'Twould make a tale. It matters not . . • 
I sought the loneliest seas ; I sought 
The solitude of ruins, and forgot 
Mine own lone life and littleness 
Before this fair land's mute distress, 
That sat within this changefid sea. 

n. 

Slow sailing through the reedy isles, 

By unknown banks, through unknown bays, 

Some sunny, summer yesterdays. 

Where Nature's beauty still beguiles, 

I watched the storied yellow sail 

And lifted prow of steely mail. 

'Tis all that's left Torcello now, — 

A pirate's yellow sail, a prow. 



152 SOXGS OF ITALY. 

III. 

Below the far, faint peaks of snow, 
And grass-grown causeways well below, 
I touched Torcello. 

Once on land, 
I took a sea-shell in my hand, 
And blew like any trumpeter. 
I felt the fig-leaves lift and stir 
On trees that reach from ruined wall 
Above my head, — but that was all. 
Back from the farther island shore 
Came echoes trooping — nothing more. 

IV. 

Yet here stood Adria once, and here 
Came Attila with sword and flame, 
And set his throne of hollowed stone 
In her high mart. 

And it remains 
Still lord o'er all. Where once the tears 
Of mute petition fell, the rains 
Of heaven fall. Lo ! all alone 
There lifts this massive empty throne ! 
The sea has changed his meed, his mood, 
And made this sedgy solitude. 



ATTILA'S THRONE. 153 

V. 

By cattle paths grass-grown and worn, 
Through marbled streets all stain'd and torn 
By time and battle, lone I walked. 
A bent old beggar, white as one 
For better fruitage blossoming, 
Came on. And as he came he talked 
Unto himself ; for there are none 
In all his island, old and dim, 
To answer back or question him. 

VT. 

I turned, retraced my steps once more. 
The hot miasma steamed and rose 
In deadly vapor from the reeds 
That grew from out tlijB shallow shore. 
Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds, 
And Nepture shapes his horn and blows 

vn. 

I climb'd and sat that throne of stone 
To contemplate, to dream, to reign — 
Ay, reign above myself; to call 
The people of the past again 



154 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Before me as I sat alone 
In all my kingdom. 

There were kme 
That browsed along the reedy brine, 
And now and then a tusky boar 
Would shake the high reeds of the shore, 
A bird blow by, — but that was all. 



vin. 

I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass. 
I did remember and forget, — 
The past rolled by ; I stood alone. 
I sat the shapely chiselled stone 
That stands in tall sweet grasses set ; 
Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass, 
And green alfalfa. 

Yer}^ fair 
The heavens were, and still and blue, 
For Nature knows no changes there. 
The Alps of Venice, far away, 
Like some half-risen large moon lay. 



ATTILA'S THRONE. 155 

rx. 

How sweet the grasses at my feet I 
The smell of clover over sweet. 
I heard the hum of bees. The bloom 
Of clover-tops and cherry-trees 
Were being rifled by the bees, 
And these were building in a tomb. 

X. 

The fair alfalfa — such as has 
Usurped the Occident, and grows 
With all the sweetness of the rose 
On Sacramento's sundown hills — 
Is there, and that dead island fills 
With frao-rance. Yet the smell of death 
Comes riding in on every breath. 

XI. 

Lo ! death that is not death, but rest : 
To step aside, to watch and wait 
Beside the wave, outside the gate, 
With all life's pulses in your breast : 
To absolutely rest, to pray 
In some lone mountain while you may. 



156 SOA'GS OF ITALY. 

XII. 

That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense, 
And sound, and voice. It was a part 
Of that which had possessed my heart, 
And would not of my will go hence. 
'Twas Autumn's breath ; 'twas dear as kiss 
Of any worshipped woman is. 

xin. 
Some snails had climb 'd the throne and writ 
Their silver monograms on it 
In unknown tongues. 

I sat thereon, 
I dreamed until the day was gone ; 
I blew again my pearly shell, — 
Blew long and strong, and loud and well ; 
I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as when 
Horn'd satyrs danced the delight of men. 

XIV. 

Some mouse-brown cows that fed within 
Looked up. A cowherd rose hard by, 
My single subject, clad in skin, 
Nor yet half-clad. 



ATTILA'S THRONE. 157 

I cauglit his eye, — 
He stared at me, then turned and fled. 
He frightened fled, and as he ran. 
Like wild beast from the face of man, 
Across his shoulder threw his head. 

XV. 

He gathered up his skin of goat 

About his breast and hairy throat ; 

He stopped, and then this subject true, 

^line only one in all the isle. 

Turned round, and, with a fawning smile, 

Came back and asked me for a %ou! 



158 SONGS OF ITALY. 



SANTA MARIA: TORCELLO. 

I. 

A ND yet again through the watery miles 
Of reeds I rowed, till the desolate isles 
Of the black bead-makers of Venice were not. 
I touched where a single sharp tower is shot 
To heaven, and torn by thunder and rent 
As if it had been Time's battlement. 
A city lies dead, and this great gravestone 
Stands on its grave like a ghost alone. 

n. 

Some cherry-trees grow here, and here 
An old church, simple and severe 
In ancient aspect, stands alone 
Amid the ruin and decay, all grown 
In moss and grasses. 

Old and quaint, 
With antique cuts of martyr'd saint. 
The gray church stands with stooping knees, 
Defying the decay of seas. 



SANTA MARIA. 159 

in. 

Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high, 
In bright mosaics wrought and set 
When man first knew the Nubian art, 
Her bearded saints as black as jet, 
Her quaint Madonna, dim with rain 
And touch of pious lips of pain, 
So touched my lonesome soul, that I 
Gazed long, then came and gazed again, 
And loved, and took her to my heart. 

IV. 

Nor monk in black, nor Capucin, 

Nor priest of any creed was seen. 

A sun-browned woman, old and tall, 

And still as any shadow is, 

Stole forth from out the mossy wall 

With massive keys to show me this : 

Came slowly forth, and, following. 

Three birds — and all with drooping wing. 

V. 

Three mute brown babes of hers ; and they — 
Oh, they were beautiful as sleep, 



160 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Or death, below tlie troubled deep I 
And on the pouting lips of these, 
Red corals of the silent seas, 
Sweet birds, the everlasting seal 
Of silence that the God has set 
On this dead island sits for aye. 

VI. 

I would forget, yet not forget 
Their helpless eloquence. They creej. 
Somehow into my heart, and keep 
One bleak, cold corner, jewel set. 
They steal my better self away 
To them, as little birds that day 
Stole fruits from out the cherry-trees. 

VII. 

So helpless and so wholly still, 
So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise, 
That I did love, despite my will. 
One little maid of ten — such eyes. 
So large and lonely, so divine ! 
Such pouting lips, such pearly cheek ! - 



SANTA MARIA, 161 

Did lift her perfect eyes to mine, 
Until our souls did touch and speak — 
Stood by me all that perfect day, 
Yet not one sweet word could she say 

vm. 

She turned her melancholy eyes 
So constant to my own, that I 
Forgot the going clouds, the sky ; 
Found fellowship, took bread and wine . 
And so her little soul and mine 
Stood very near together there. 
And oh, I found her ver}'- fan- ! 
Yet not one soft word could she say : 
What did she think of all that day ? 



U 



162 SONGS OF ITALY. 



LILIAN. 



I. 



OHE is dark as Israel. She is proud and still 

As Lebanon pine on the Palatine Hill. 
Her name it is Lilla ; a plain, pretty name 
That syllables by quite simple and tame, 
Until you have looked on her presence ; and 

then ! — 
Oh, it then means to you, as to me it has meant, 
The fairest thing under the firmament. 

n. 

Her name is as language ; and, when I know 

Nor name nor type to give utterance to 

My grandest conception of woman, she 

Stands up in my soul, calm, silently, 

And fills the blank with her own sweet name. 

Ay, even at mention of her I grow — 

Grow grand and splendid as is growing flame. 



LILIAN. 163 

m. 

Thou dark silent pine of the Palatine Hill ! 
Thou princess and empress, I look to thee still, 
Disdain as you will ; for my gods they must be. 
Yea, regal my soul, and, having known thee. 
How can I to others bow knee or bend will ? . . . 
Now, come what comes, my whole life through 
I shall be the nobler for this love of you. 



164 SOJVGS OF ITALY. 



LIFE. 

T IFE ? 'Tis the story of love and of troubles, 
Of troubles and love, that travel together 
The round world through. Behold the bubbles 
Of love ! Then troubles and turbulent weather. 
Why, man had all Eden ! Then love, then Cain ! 
Go away, go away with your bitter-sweet pain 
Of love, and leave us ! Come ! care not a pin, 
Until peace goes out, and till love comes in. 

Naples, 1874. 



IN PR RE LA CHAISE. 165 



IN PERE LA CHAISE. 

I. 

A N avenue of tombs I I stand before 
The tomb of Abelarcl and Eloise. 
A long, a dark bent line of cypress trees 
Leads past and on to other shrines ; but o'er 
This tomb the boughs hang darkest and most 

dense, 
Like leaning mourners clad in black. The sense 
Of awe oppresses you. This solitude 
Means more than common sorrow. Down the 

wood 
Still lovers pass, then pause, then turn again. 
And weep like silent, unobtrusive rain. 

n. 

'Tis but a simple, antique tomb that kneels 
As one that weeps above the broken clay. 
'Tis stained with storms, 'tis eaten well away, 
Nor half the old-new story now reveals 



166 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Of heart that held beyond the tomb to heart. 
But oh, it tells of love ! And that true page 
Is more in this cold, hard, commercial age, 
.When love is calmly counted some lost art. 
Than all man's mighty monuments of war 
Or archives vast of art and science are. 

ni. 

Here poets pause and dream a listless hour ; 
Here silly pilgrims stoop and kiss the clay ; 
Here sweetest maidens leave a cross or flower. 
While vandals bear the tomb in bits away. 
The ancient stone is scarred with name and 

scrawl 
Of many tender fools. But over all. 
And high above all other scrawls, is writ 
One simple thing, most touching and most fit. 
Some pitying soul has tiptoed high above, 
And with a nail has scrawled but this : ^' O 

Love!" 

rv. 
O Love ! . . . I turn ; I climb the hill- of tombs, 
Where sleeps the " bravest of the brave,'' below. 
His bed of scarlet blooms in zone of snow — 
No cross nor sign, save this red bed of blooms. 



IN PERE la chaise. 167 

I see grand tombs to France's lesser dead, — 

Colossal steeds, white pyramids, still red 

At base with blood, still torn with shot and shell, 

To testify that here the Commune fell : 

And yet I turn once more from all of these, 

And stand before the tomb of Eloise. 

Paris, 1872 



168 SONGS OF ITALY. 



LONGING FOR HOME. 

I. 

/^"^OULD I but return to my woods ouce more, 
And dwell in their depths as I have dwelt, 
Kneel in their mosses as I have knelt, 
Sit where the cool white rivers run, 
Away from the world and half hid from the sun. 
Hear wind in the woods of my storm-torn shore, 
Glad to the heart with listening, — 
It seems to me that I then could smg. 
And sing as I never have sung before. 

n. 

I miss, how wholly I miss my wood. 

My matchless, magnificent dark-leaved firs 

That climb up the terrible heights of Hood, 

Where only the breath of white heaven stu's ! 

These Alps they are barren ; wi-apped in storms. 

Formless masses of Titan forms. 

They loom like ruins of a grandeur gone. 

And lonesome as death to look upon. 



LONGING FOR HOME. 169 

m. 

O God I once more in my life to hear 
The voice of a wood that is loud and alive, 
That stirs with its being like a vast bee-hive I 
And oh, once more in my life to see 
The great bright eyes of the antlered deer ; 
To sing with the birds that sing for me. 
To tread where only the red man trod, 
To say no word, but listen to God ! 

Verona, 1873. 



170 SONGS OF ITALY. 



PESTAM. 

'T^HIS land it is desolate, dead as death 1 
Never the sound of a beast or a bird, 
Nor voices of Nature above a breath ; 
Never the wild deer's quick retreat, 
Never the pheasant's far drum-beat : 
Only the hideous marsh buffalo. 
With a half-choked moan or a lazy low ; 
Only the dull cloven tramp of the herd ; 
Only the tiresome gray outlook ; 
Only the tourist tight holding a book, 
A red-bound book as a lamp for his feet ! 

Pestam, 1873. 



TITIAN'S LAND, 171 



TITIAN'S LAND. 

I. 

T JOURNEYED to Titian's torn land last year, 
To make me companions of peaks as of old : 
Tlie gray peaks lifted their granite brows 
As barren and cold as a virgin's vows. 
I saw and was silent. Unutterable thoug^ht 
Was mine, and a boyhood's memory rolled 
On past; and I gave to the past a tear. 
I lived dead days that were best forgot. 

n. 

I listened for bird, for beast. Lo ! a gloom 
Had mantled the land like a mournful cloud, 
And lay like the solitude guarding a tomb. 
I spake and made sign — but they answered me 

not. 
I lifted my hands and I called aloud — 
Then echoes went rolling from clift' to cloud, 
And peasants came cautious, strange-clad and 

tall : 
Echoes and peasants, — and that was all : 



1T2 SONGS OF ITALY, 



m. 

Wild peasants that cling to the cliffs, and reap, 
With short broad scythes, the adventurous grain ; 
Then peasants that dwell by the timbered steep, 
In mossy caverns or in leafy low tents, 
And fall the tall forest and plant again 
The orderly woods like to regiments ; 
And fashion the beam and hew the wood, 
And guide the raft through the foamy flood. 

CoMO, 1874. 



IN INNSBRUCK. 173 



D 



IN INNSBRUCK. 

AY by day by the high-born rills 

That plunge into Innsbruck born of the 
snow, 
I list for the voices of Ioug: as^o. 
I stood over Ishl hid under the hills ; 
I stood where the white clouds curled and broke 
In the morn, like puffs of battle -white smoke : 
I listened all day, but listened in vain, 
For the voice of my mou utain comes never again. 

Innsbruck. 



174 SONGS OF ITALY. 



FOR PRINCESS MAUD. 



OTORM in the east and storm m the west, 

And the wild sea over my head ; 
But oh, the storm that is in my breast 
For my brave love three days d ead ! 
Storm and tempest, and peril and pain, 
Nothing but tempest and wild white rain. 



n. 

Dead is my heart in the dust to-day, 
And the wheels go over my head. 
Will never the stone be rolled away 
From the grave of my beautiful dead ? 
Storm in my heart, on the hill, on the plain ; 
Tempest and tears, and the wild white rain. 



FOR PRINCESS MAUD. 175 

m. 

Under the storm and the cloud to-day, 
And to-day the hard peril and pain — 
To-morrow the stone shall be rolled away, 
For the sunshine shall follow the rain. 
Merciful Father, I will not complain, 
I know that the sunshine shall follow the rain. 



176 SONGS OF ITALY. 



I SHALL REMEMBER. 

I. 
T^ID I court fame by the favor of man ? 

Make war upon creed, or strike hand with 
clan ? 
I sang my songs of the sounding trees, 
As careless of name or of fame as the sea ; 
And these I sang for the love of these. 
And the sad sweet solace they brought to me. 
I but sang for myself, touched here, touched there, 
Like a strong-winged bird that flies anywhere. 

n. 

Did I the religions assail ? Gainsay 

One creed that is taught, or lift hard hand, 

Or teach aught else than as Christ taught ? Nay, 

There is little enough of love in the land, 

There is little enough of Faith for me, 

There is little enough of Charity, 



/ SHALL REMEMBER, 177 

Little enough of Hope, I guess, — 

And I am the last to make these less. 

And yet did ye stone your prophets ; and yet — 

Well, I shall remember, though ye may forget. 

Venice, 1873. 



IS 



178 SONGS OF ITALY. 



VALE. 



I. 



T ET us say farewell. A far dim spark 

Illumes my path. The light of my day 
Hath fled, and yet I am far away. 
The small curled moon has dipped her horn 
In the dark'ning sea. High up in the dark 
The wrinkled old lion, he looks away 
To the east, and impatient as if for morn. . . . 
I have gone the girdle of earth, and say, 
What have I gained but a temple gray. 
Two crow's-feet, and a heart forlorn. 

n. 

A star starts yonder like a soul afraid ! 

It falls like a thought thro' the great profound. 

Fearfully swift and with never a sound. 

It fades into nothing, as all things fade. 



VALE. 179 

Yea, what is the world ? And where is the leaven 
In the pride of name or a proud man's nod ? 
Oh tiresome, tiresome stairs to heaven ! 
Weary, oh wearisome ways to God ! 
'Twere better to sit with the chin on the palm, 
Slow tapping the sand, come storm, come calm. 

III. 
I have lived from within and not from without ; 
I have drunk from a fount, have fed from a hand 
That no man knows who lives upon land ; 
I care not a pin for the praise of men : 
And yet my soul it is crying out 
In hunger for love. I starve, I die. 
Each day of my life. Ye pass me by 
Each day, and laugh as ye pass ; and when 
Ye come, I start in my place as ye come, 
And lean, and would speak, — but my lips are 
dumb. 

IV. 

Those sliding stars and the changeful moon ! 
Let me rest on the plains of Lombardy for aye, 
Or sit down by the Adrian Sea and die. 
The days that do seem as an afternoon, 



180 SONGS OF ITALY. 

Tliey all are here. I am strong and true 
To myself ; can pluck and can plant anew 
My heart, and grow tall ; could come to be 
Another being; lift bolder hand 
And conquer. Yet ever will come to me 
The thought that Italia is not my land. 

V. 

A time you may sit and be satisfied ; 

You may toy with new things like a child at play , 

But you rise at last and you thrust them away : 

And then there rises a Saxon's pride, 

And the heart fills full, and it throbs to burst, 

With a sense of wrong, and a savage sense 

Of right ; and you rise and you look afar, 

And over the seas where the spaces are. 

And you feel that there the God at the first 

Did set you down with inheritance. 

VI. 

Here too are the mountains. But a day from 

this town 
Of marble, that sits to its waist in the sea, 
A moon-white mountain of snow looks down 
On a thousand glories of old Italy. 



VALE, 18] 

And the seas are here, and the sunlit skies 
Look soft as a love in a lover's eyes, — 
Yet all this beauty and love by the sea 
But seems to mock me, and but seems to say, 
" Stranger, lorn stranger, rise ! go your way ! " 

vn. 
I shall find diversion with another kind. 
There are roads on the land and roads on the sea, 
Take ship and sail, and sail till I find 
The love that I sought from eternity. 
Run away from oneself, take ship and sail 
The middle white seas, see turbaned men, — 
Throw thought to the dogs for aye. And when 
All seas are travelled and all scenes shall fail. 
Why, then this doubtful, sad gift of verse 
Will save me from death — or something worse. 

YIII. 

Then deep-tangled woodland and wild waterfall, 

Oh farewell for aye, till the judgment day ! 

I shall see you no more, O land of mine, 

O half-aware land like a child at play ! 

O voiceless and vast as the pushed-backed skies \ 



182 SONGS OF ITALY. 

No more, blue seas in the blest sunshine, 
No more, black woods where the wliite peaks rise. 
No more, bleak plains where the high winds fall, 
Or the red man cries or the shrill birds call ! 



IX. 

My hand it is weary, and my harp unstrung , 
And where is the good that I pipe or sing, 
Fashion new notes, or shape any thing ? 
The songs of my rivers remain unsung 
Henceforward for me. . . . But a man shall rise 
From the great vast valleys of the Occident, 
With hand on his harp of gold, and with eyes 
That lift with glorj^ and a proud intent ; 
Yet so gentle indeed, that his sad heart-strings 
Shall thrill to your heart of hearts as he sings. 

X. 

Let the wind sing songs in the lakeside reeds, 
Lo, I shall be less than the indolent wind ! 
Why should I sow, when I reap and bind 
And gather in nothing but the pasture weeds? 
It is best I abide let what will befall. 



VALE. 183 

To rest if I can, let time roll by ; 
Let others endeavor to learn, while I, 
With nought to conceal, with much to regret. 
Shall sit and endeavor, alone, to forget. 

XI. 

Shall I shape pipes from these seaside reeds. 
And play for the children, and shout and call? 
Lo ! men they have mocked me the whole year 

through ! 
Nay, let us not laugh. I find in old creeds. 
And in quaint old tongues, a world that is new : 
And these, I will gather the sweets of them all. 
And the old-time doctrines and the old-time signs, 
T will taste of them all, as tasting old wines. 

XTI. 

I will find new thought, as a new-found vein 
Of rock-locked gold in my far, fair West. 
I Tvill rest and forget, will entreat to be blest ; 
Take up new thought and again grow young ; 
Yea, take a new world as one born again, 
And never hear more mine own mother tongue ; 
Nor miss it. Why should I? I never once heard, 
In my land's language, love's one sweet word. 



184 SONGS OF ITALY. 

xni. 
. . . How I do wander ! And yet why not? 
I once had a song, told a tale in rhyme ; 
Wrote books indeed in my proud young prime : 
I aimed at the heart like a musket ball, 
I struck curs'd folly like a cannon shot, — 
And where is the glory- or good of it all ? 
Yet these did I write for my love, but this 
I ^Tite for myself, — and it is as it is. 

XIV. 

Yea, storms have blown counter and shaken me. 
And yet was I fashioned for strife, and strong 
And daring of heart, and born to endure : 
My soul sprang upward, my feet felt sure ;, 
My faith was as wide as a wide-boughed tree. 
But there be limits ; and a sense of wrong 
For ever before you will make you less 
A man, than a man at the first would guess. 

XV. 

Good men can forgive — and, they say, forget. . . . 

Far less of the angel than Indian is set 

In my stern soul. And I look away 

To a land that is dearer than this, and say, i 



VALE. 185 

" I shall remember, though you may forget. 
Yea, I shall remember for aye and a day 
The keen taunts thrown in a boy face, when 
He cried unto God for the love of men." 

XVI. 

Enough, ay and more than enough, of this ! 
I know that the sunshine must follow the rain ; 
And if this be the winter, why, spring again 
Will come in its season, full blossomed in bliss. 
I will lean to the storm, though the winds blow 

strong ; 
Yea, the winds they have blown and have shaken 

me — 
As the winds blow songs through a shattered 

tree. 
They have blown this broken and careless-set 

song. 

XVII. 
They have sung this song, be it never so bad ; 
Have blown upon me and played upon me, 
Have broken the notes, — blown sad, blown glad 
Just as the winds blow fierce and free 



186 SONGS OF ITALY. 

A barren, a blighted, and a cnrs'd fig tree. 
And if I grow careless and heed no whit 
Whether it please or what comes of it, 
Why, talk to the winds then, and not to me I 

Venice, 1875. 



SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS 




SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 

TN that far land, farther than Yucatan, 
Honclurian height, or Mahogany steejj, 
Where the great sea, holloiued by the hand of man 

Hears deep coine calling across to dcejj ; 
Where the great seas follow in the grooves of men 
Down under the bastions of Darien : 



In that land so far that yon v'onder whether 

If God ivotdd know it should you fcdl doivn dead ; 

In that land so far through the luilds and weather 
That the lost sum sinks like a warrior sped, — 

Where the sea and the sky seem closing together, 
Seem closing together as a book that is read : 



10 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

In that nude ivarm world, where the tcnnamed 
rivers 

Boll restless in cradles of hright Juried gold ; 
Where vjhite flashing mountains flow rivers of silver 

As a rock of the desert flowed fountains of old ; 
By a dark vsooded river that calls to the daivn, 
And calls all dag with his dolorous swan : 

In that land of the V'onderful sun and iceather, 

With green under foot and with gold over head. 
Where the spent sun flames, and. you w'onder 
ichether 
'Tis an isle of fire in his foamy bed : 
Where the oceans of earth shall be ivelded together 
By the great French master in his forge flame 
red, — 



lo ! the half-finished world ! Yon footfall re- 
treating, — 

It might he the Maker distiirhed at his task. 
But the footfall of God, or the far pheasant heating, 

It is one and the same, whatever the mask 
It 7nay wear unto man. The u'oods keep repeating 

The old sacred sermons, whatever you ash 



THE SEA OF FIRE. H 

The Irown-muzzUd cattle come stealtliy to drinh, 
The vjilcl forest cattle, ivith high horns as trim 
As the elk at tlieir side : their sleek necks are sliiyi 

And alert like the deer. They come, then they shrink 
As afraid of their felloivs, of shadow-heasts seen 
In the deejys of the dark-ioooded icaters of green. 

It is man in his garden, scarce loakened as yet 
From the sleep that fell on him luhcn woman was 
made. 
The new-finished garden is plastic and ivet 

From the hand that has fashioned its unpeopled 
shade ; 
And, the luonder still looks from the fair womaii's eyes 
As she shines through the ivood like the light from 
the skies. 

And a ship noiu and then from some far Ophirs 
shore 
Draws in from the sea. It lies close to the hank ; 
Then a dull,7nujfled sound of the sloio-shn fled plank 
As they load the Mack ship; hut you hear nothing 
more, 
And the dark dewy vines, and the tall somhre wood 
Like twilight droop over the deep sweeping flood. 



12 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The Uack masts are tangled ivitli tranches that cross, 
The inch, fragrant gums fall from branches to 
deck, 

The thin ropes are swinging with streamers of moss 
TJmt mantle all things like tJie shreds of a icreck ; 

The long mosses swiyig, there is never a breath : 

The river rolls still as the river of death. 



TEE SEA OF FIRE, 13 



I. 



TX the beginning, — ay, before 

The six-days' labors were well o'er; 
Yea, while the w^orld lay incomplete, 
Ere God had opened quite the door 
Of this strange land for strong men's feet, — 
There lay against that west most sea 
One weird-wild land of mystery. 

A far white wall, like fallen moon, 

Girt out the world. The forest lay 

So deep you scarcely saw the day. 

Save in the liigh-held middle noon : 

It lay a land of sleep and dreams, 

And clouds drew throudi like shoreless streams 

o 

That stretch to where no man may say. 

Men reached it only from the sea, 

By black -built ships, that seemed to creep 

Along the shore suspiciously. 

Like unnamed monsters of the deep. 



14 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

It was the weirdest land, I ween, 
That mortal eve has ever seen : 

A dim, dark land of bird and beast. 
Black shaggy beasts with cloven claw, — 
A land that scarce knew prayer or priest, 
Or law of man, or Nature's law ; 
"Where no fixed line drew sharp dispute 
'Twixt savage man and silent brute. 



II. 



It hath a history most fit 

For cunning hand to fashion on ; 

Ko chronicler hath mentioned it ; 

No buccaneer set foot upon. 

T is of an outlawed Spanish Don, — 

A cruel man, with pirate's gold 

That loaded down his deep ship's hold, 

A deep ship's hold of ijlundered gold 1 
The golden cruise, the golden cross, 
From many a church of Mexico, 
From Panama's mad overthrow. 



TEE SEA OF FIRE. 15 

From many a ransomed city's loss, 
From many a follower stanch and bold, 
And many a foeman stark and cold. 

He found this wild, lost land. He drew 
His ship to shore. His ruthless crew, 
Like Eomulus, laid lawless hand 
On meek brown maidens of the land, 
And in their bloody forays bore 
Eed firebrands along the shore. 



in. 



The red men rose at night. They came, 
A firm, unflinching wall of flame ; 
They swept, as sweeps some fateful sea 
er land of sand and level shore 
That howls in far, fierce aQ;ony. 
The red men swept that deep, dark shore 
As threshers sweep a threshing-floor. 

And yet beside the slain Don's door 
They left his daughter, as they fled : 



16 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS, 

They spared lier life, because she bore 
Their Chieftain's blood and name. The red 
And blood-stained hidden hoards, of gold 
They hollowed from the stout ship's hold, 
And bore in many a slim canoe — 
To where ? The good priest only knew. 



IV. 



The course of life is like the sea : 
Men come and go ; tides rise and fall ; 
And that is all of history. 
The tide flows in, flows out to-day, — 
And that is all that man may say ; 
Man is, man was, — and that is all. 

Revenge at last came like a tide, — 
'T was sweeping, deep, and terrible ; 
The Christian found the land, and came 
To take possession in Christ's name. 
For every white man that had died 
I think a thousand red men fell, — 
A Christian custom ; and the land 
Lay lifeless as some burned-out brand. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 17 



V. 



Ere while the slain Don's daughter grew 
A glorious thing, a flower of spring, 
A lithe slim reed, a sun-loved weed, 
A something more than mortal knew ; 
A mystery of grace and face, — 
A silent mystery that stood 
An empress in that sea-set wood, 
Supreme, imperial in her place. 

It might have been men's lust for gold, — 
For all men knew that lawless crew 
Left hoards of gold in that ship's hold. 
That drew ships hence, and silent drew 
Strange Jasons to that steep wood shore, 
As if to seek that hidden store, — 
I never either cared or knew. 

I say it might have been this gold 
That ever drew and strangely drew 
Strong men of land, strange men of sea, 
To seek this shore of mystery 
With all its wondrous tales untold : 



18 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The gold or her, which of the two ? 
It matters not ; I never knew. 

But this I know, that as for me, 
Between that face and the hard fate 
That kept me ever from my own, 
As some wronged monarch from his throne, 
God's heaped-up gold of land or sea 
Had never weighed one feather s weight. 

Her home was on the wooded height, — 
A woody home, a priest at prayer, 
A perfume in the fervid air, 
And angels watching her at night. 
I can but think upon the skies 
That bound that other Paradise. 



VI. 



Below a star-built arch, as grand 

As ever bended heaven spanned ; 

Tall trees like mighty columns grew — 

They loomed as if to pierce the blue, 

They reached as reaching heaven through. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 19 

The shadowed stream rolled far below, 
Where men moved noiseless to and fro 
As in some vast cathedral, when 
The calm of prayer comes to men. 
With benedictions, bending low. 

Lo ! wooded sea-banks, wild and steep ! 
A trackless wood ; a snowy cone 
That lifted from this wood alone ! 
This wild wide river, dark and deep ! 
A ship against the shore asleep ! 



VII. 

An Indian woman crept, a crone, 
Hard by about the land alone. 
The relic of her perished race. 
She wore rich, rudely-fashioned bands 
Of gold above her bony hands : 
She hissed hot curses on the place ! 

VIII. 

Go seek the red man's last retreat ! 
A lonesome land, the haunted lands ! 



20 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Red mouths of beasts, red men's red hands : 
Red prophet-priest, in mute defeat ! 

His boundaries in blood are writ ! 
His land is ghostland ! That is his, 
Whatever man may claim of this ; 
Beware how you shall enter it ! 
He stands God's guardian of ghostlands ; 
Ay, this same wrapped half -prophet stands 
All nude and voiceless, nearer to 
The awful God than I or you. 



IX. 



This bronzed child, by that river's brink, 
Stood fair to see as you can think, 
As tall as tall reeds at her feet. 
As fresh as flowers in her hair ; 
As sweet as flowers over-sweet, 
As fair as vision more than fair I 

How beautiful she was ! How wild ! 
How pure as water-plant, this child, -^ 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 21 

This one wild child of ISTatnre here 
Grown tall in shadows. 

And how near 
To God, where no man stood between 
Her eyes and scenes no man hath seen, — 
This maiden that so mutely stood, 
The one lone woman of that wood. 

Stop still, my friend, and do not stir. 
Shut close your page and think of her. 
The birds sang sweeter for her face ; 
Her lifted eyes were like a grace 
To seamen of that solitude, 
However rough, however rude. 

The rippled rivers of her hair, 
That ran in wondrous waves, somehow 
Flowed down divided by her brow, — 
Half mantled her within its care, 
And flooded all, or bronze or snow, 
In its uncommon fold and flow, 

A perfume and an incense lay 
Before her, as an incense sweet 
Before blithe mowers of sweet May 



22 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

In early morn. Her certain feet 
Embarked on no uncertain way. 

Come, think how perfect before men, 
How sweet as sweet magnolia bloom 
Embalmed in dews of morning, when 
Eich sunlight leaps from midnight gloom 
Kesolved to kiss, and swift to kiss 
Ere yet morn wakens man to bliss. 



X. 

The days swept on. Her perfect year 
Was with her now. The sweet perfume 
Of womanhood in holy bloom, 
As when red harvest blooms appear, 
Possessed her now. The priest did pray 
That saints alone should pass that way. 

A red bird built beneath her roof, 
Erown squirrels crossed her cabin sill, 
And welcome came or went at will. 
A hermit spider wove his web. 
And up against the roof would spin 
His net to catch mosquitoes in. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 23 

The silly elk, the spotted fawn, 
And all dumb beasts that came to drink, 
That stealthy stole upon the brink 
In that dim while that lies between 
The coming night and going dawn, 
On seeing her familiar face 
Would fearless stop and stand in place- 
She was so kind, the beasts of night 
Gave her the road as if her right ; 
The panther crouching overhead 
In sheen of moss would hear her tread 
And bend his eyes, but never stir 
Lest he by chance might frighten her. 

Yet in her splendid strength, her eyes, 

There lay the lightning of the skies ; 

The love-hate of the lioness, 

To kill the instant, or caress : 

A pent-up soul that sometimes grew 

Impatient ; why, she hardly knew. 

At last she sighed, uprose, and threw 
Her strong arms out as if to hand 



24 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS, 

Her love, sun-born and all complete 
At birth, to some brave lover's feet 
On some far, fair, and unseen land. 
As knowing now not what to do ! 

XL 

How beantifvil she was ! Why, she 
Was inspiration ! She was born 
To walk God's summer hills at morn, 
Nor waste her by this wood-dark sea. 
"What wonder, then, her soul's white wings 
Beat at its bars, like living things ! 

Once more she sighed I She wandered throuorh 

The sea-bound wood, then stopped and drew 

Her hand above her face, and swept 

The lonesome sea, and all day kept 

Her face to sea, as if she knew 

Some day, some near or distant day. 

Her destiny should come that way. 

XII. 

How proud she was ! How darkly fair ! 
How full of faith, of love, of strength ! 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 25 

Her calm, proud eyes ! Her great hair's 

length, — 
Her long, strong, tumbled, careless hair, 
Half curled and knotted anywhere. 
From brow to breast, from cheek to chin. 
For love to trip and tangle in J 



XIII. 

At last a tall strange sail was seen : 
It came so slow, so wearily, 
Came creeping cautious up the sea, 
As if it crept from out between 
The half -closed sea and sky that lay 
Tight wedged together, far away. 

She w^atched it, wooed it. She did pray 
It might not pass her by, but bring 
Some love, some hate, some anything, 
To break the awful loneliness 
That like a nightly nightmare lay 
Upon her proud and pent-up soul 
Until it barelv brooked control. 



26 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

XIV. 

The ship crept silent up the sea. 
And came — 

You cannot understand 
How fair she was, how sudden she 
Had sprung, full-grown, to womanhood : 
How gracious, yet how proud and grand ; 
How glorified, yet fresh and free. 
How human, yet how more than good. 



XV. 



The ship stole slowly, slowly on ; — 
Should you in Californian field 
In ample flower-time behold 
The soft south rose lift like a shield 
Against the sudden sun at dawn, 
A double handful of heaped gold, 
"Why you, perhaps, might understand 
How splendid and how queenly she 
Uprose beside that wood-set sea. 

The storm-worn ship scarce seemed to creep 
From wave to wave. It scarce could keep — 



TEE SEA OF FIRE. o? 

How still this fair girl stood, how fair ! 

How proud her presence as she stood 

Between that vast sea and west wood ! 

How large and liberal her soul, 

How confident, how purely chare, 

How trusting ; how untried the whole 

Great heart, grand faith, that blossomed there ! 



XVI. 

Ay, she was as Madonna to 

The tawny, lawless, faithful few 

Who touched her hand and knew her soul 

She drew them, drew them as the pole 

Points all things to itself. 

She drew 
Men upward as a moon of spring, 
High wheeling, vast and bosom-full. 
Half clad in clouds and white as wool. 
Draws all the strong seas following. 

Yet still she moved as sad, as lone 
As that same moon that leans above, 
And seems to search high heaven through 



28 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

For some strong, all-sufficient love, 
For one brave love to be her own, 
To lean upon, to love, to woo. 
To lord her high white world, to yield 
His clashing sword against her shield. 

Oh, I once knew a sad, white dove 
That died for such sufficient love, 
Such high-born soul with wings to soar : 
That stood up equal in its place, 
That looked love level in the face, 
Nor wearied love w4th leaning o'er 
To lift love level where she trod 
In sad delight the hills of God. 



XVII. 

How slow before the sleeping breeze, 
That stranger ship from under seas ! 
How like to Dido by her sea, 
When reaching arms imploringly, • — 
Her large, round, rich, impassioned arms. 
Tossed forth from all her storied charms, — 
This one lone maiden leaning stood 
Above that sea, beside the wood ! 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 29 

The ship crept strangely up the seas ; 

Her shrouds seemed shreds, her masts seemed 

trees, — 
Strange tattered trees of toughest bough 
That knew no cease of storm till now. 
The maiden pitied her ; she prayed 
Her crew might come, nor feel afraid ; 
She prayed the winds might come, — they came, 
As birds that answ^er to a name. 

The maiden held her blowing hair 

That bound her beauteous self about ; 

The sea-winds housed within her hair : 

She let it go, it blew in rout 

About her bosom full and bare. 

Her round, full arms w^ere free as air. 

Her high hands clasped, as clasped in prayer. 

XVIII. 

Tlie breeze grew bold, the battered ship 
Began to flap her weary wings ; 
The tall, torn masts began to dip 
And walk the wave like living things. 
She rounded in, she struck the stream. 
She moved like some majestic dream. 



30 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The captain kept her deck. He stood 
A Hercules among his men; 
And now he watched the sea, and then 
He peered as if to pierce the wood. 
He now looked back, as if pursued, 
Now swept the sea with glass, as though 
He fled or feared some hidden foe. 

Swift sailing up the river's mouth, 

Swift tacking north, swift tacking south, 

He touched the overhanging wood ; 

He tacked his ship ; his tall black mast 

Touched tree-top mosses as he passed ; 

He touched the steep shore where she stood. 



XIX. 

Her hands still clasped as if in prayer. 
Sweet prayer set to silentness ; 
Her sun-browned throat uplifted, bare 
And beautiful. 

Her eager face 
Illumed with love and tenderness, 
And all her presence gave such grace, 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 31 

Dark shadowed in her cloud of hair, 
That she seemed more than mortal fair. 



XX. 



He saw. He could not speak. No more 
With lifted glass he sought the sea ; 
No more he watched the wild new shore. 
Now foes might come, now friends might flee ; 
He could not speak, he would not stir, — 
He saw but her, he feared but her. 

The black ship ground against the shore, 
She OTound asjainst the bank as one 
With long and weary journeys done, 
That' would not rise to journey more. 

Yet still this Jason silent stood 
And gazed against that sun-lit wood, 
As one whose soul is anywhere. 

All seemed so fair, so wondrous fair ! 
At last aroused, he stepped to land 
Like some Columbus. They laid hand 
On lands and fruits, and rested there. 



32 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

XXI. 

He found all fairer than fair morn 
In sylvan land, where waters run 
With downward leap against the sun, 
And full-grow^n sudden May is born. 
He found her taller than tall corn 
Tiptoe in tassel; found her sweet 
As vale where bees of Hybla meet. 

An unblown rose, an unread book ; 
A wonder in her wondrous eyes ; 
A large, religious, steadfast look 
Of faith, of trust, — the look of one 
New welcomed in her Paradise. 

He read this book, — read on and on 
From titlepage to colophon : 
As in cool woods, some summer day, 
You find delight in some sweet lay, 
And so entranced read on and on 
From titlepage to colophon. 

XXII. 

And who was he that rested there, — 
This Hercules, so huge, so rare, 



TEE SEA OF FIRE. 

This giant of a grander day, 

This Theseus of a nobler Greece, 

This Jason of the golden fleece ? 

And who was he ? And who were they 

That came to seek the hidden gold 

Long hallowed from the pirate's hold? 

1 do not know. You need not care. 



They loved, this maiden and this man, 
And that is all I surely know, — 
The rest is as the winds that blow. 
He bowed as brave men bow to fate, 
Yet proud and resolute and bold ; 
She, coy at first, and mute and cold. 
Held back and seemed to hesitate, — 
Half frightened at this love that ran 
Hard gallop till her hot heart beat 
Like sounding of swift courser s feet. 

XXIII. 

Two strong streams of a land must run 
Together surely as the sun 
Succeeds the moon. Who shall gainsay 
3 



34 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The fates that reign, that wisely reign ? 
Love is, love was, shall be again. 
Like death, inevitable it is ; 
Perchance, like death, the dawn of bliss. 
Let lis, then, love the perfect day. 
The twelve o'clock of life, and stop 
The two hands pointing to the top, 
And hold them tightly while we may. 



XXIV. 

How piteous strange is' love ! The w^alks 
By wooded ways ; the silent talks 
Beneath the broad and fragrant bough. 
The dark deep wood, the dense black dell. 
Where scarce a single gold beam fell 
From out the sun. 

They rested now 
On mossy trunk. They wandered then 
Where never fell the feet of men. 

Then longer walks, then deeper woods, 
Then sweeter talks, sufficient sweet, 
In denser, deeper solitudes, — 



TEE SEA OF FIBE. 35 

Dear careless ways for careless feet ; 
Sweet talks of paradise for two, 
And only two, to watch or woo. 

She rarely spake. All seemed a dream 
She w^ould not waken from. She lay 
All night but waiting for the day. 
When she might see his face, and deem 
This man, with all his perils passed, 
Had found the Lotus-land at last. 



XXV. 

The year waxed fervid, and the sun 
Fell central down. The forest lay 
A-quiver in the heat. The sea 
Below the steep bank seemed to run 
A molten sea of gold. 

Away 
Against the gray and rock-built isles 
That broke the molten watery miles 
Where lonesome sea-cows called all day, 
The sudden sun smote angrily. 



36 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Therefore the need of deeper deeps, 
Of denser shade for man and maid, 
Of higher heights, of cooler steeps, 
Where all day long the sea-wind stayed. 

They sought the rock-reared steep. The breeze 

Swept twenty thousand miles of seas ; 

Had twenty thousand things to say 

Of love, of lovers of Cathay, 

To lovers 'mid these higli-held trees. 



XXVI. 

To left, to right, below the height, 
Below the wood by wave and stream, 
Plumed pampas grasses grew to gleam 
And bend their lordly plumes, and run 
And shake, as if in verv fridit 
Before sharp lances of the sun. 

They saw the tide-bound battered ship 
Creep close below against the bank ; 
They saw it cringe and shrink ; it shrank 
As shrinks some huge black beast with fear 
When some uncommon dread is near. 



THE SEA OF FIBE. 37 

Tliey heard the melting resin drip, 

As drip the last brave blood-drops when 

Life's battle waxes hot with men. 



XXVII. 

Yet what to her were burning seas, 
Or what to him was forest flame ? 
They loved ; they loved the glorious trees, 
The gleaming tides, or rise or fall ; 
They loved the lisping winds that came 
From sea-lost spice-set isles unknown, 
With breath not warmer than their own : 
They loved, they loved, — and that was all. 



XXVIII. 

Full noon ! Below the ancient moss 
With mighty boughs high clanged across, 
The man with sweet words, over-sweet, 
Fell pleading, plaintive, at her feet. 

He spake of love, of boundless love, — 
Of love that knew no other land, 



38 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Or face, or place, or anything ; 

Of love that like the wearied dove 

Could light nowhere, but kept the wing 

Till she alone put forth her hand, 

And so received it in her ark 

From seas that shake against the dark ! 

He clasped her hands, climbed past her knees, 
Forgot her hands and kissed her hair, — 
The while her two hands clasped in prayer. 
And fair face lifted to the trees. 

Her proud breast heaved, her pure proud breast 

Eose like the waves in their unrest 

When counter storms possess tlie seas. 

Her mouth, her arched, uplifted mouth, 

Her ardent mouth that thirsted so, — ■ 

No cjlowin" love-son ci; of the South 

Can say ; no man can say or know 

The glory there, and so live on 

Content v/ithout that glory gone ! 

Her face still lifted up. And slie 

Disdained the cup of passion he 

Hard pressed her panting lips to touch. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 39 

She dashed it by despised, and she 

Caught fast her breath. She trembled much, 

And sudden rose full height, and stood 

An empress in high womanhood : 

She stood a tower, tall as when 

Proud Ptoman mothers suckled men 

Of old-time truth and taught them such. 



XXIX. 

Her soul surged vast as space is. She 
Was trembling as a courser when 
His thin flank quivers, and his feet 
Touch velvet on the turf, and he 
Is all a foam, alert, and Heet 
As sunlight glancing on tlie sea, 
And full of triumph before men. 

At last she bended some her face. 
Half leaned, then put him back a pace, 
And met his eyes. 

Calm, silently 
Her eyes looked deep into his eyes, — 
As maidens down somo mossy well 



40 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Do peer in hope by chance to tell 
By image there what future lies 
Before them, and what face shall be 
The pole-star of their destiny. 

Pure Nature's lover ! Loving him 

AVith love that made all pathways dim 

And difficult where he was not, — 

Then marvel not at form forgot. 

And who shall chide ? Doth priest know aught 

Of sign, or lioly unction brought 

From over seas, that ever can 

Make man love maid or maid love man 

One whit the more, one bit the less, 

For all his mummeries to bless ? 

Yea, all his blessing or his ban ? 

The winds breathed warm as Araby : 
She leaned upon his breast, she lay 
A wide-winged swan with folded wing. 
He drowned his hot face in her hair, 
He heard her great heart rise and sing ; 
He felt her bosom swell. 

The air 
Swooned sweet with perfume of her form. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 41 

Her breast was warm, her breath was warm, 
And warm her warm and perfumed mouth 
As summer journeys through the South. 



XXX. 

The argent sea surged steep below, 
Surged languid in a tropic glow ; 
And two great hearts kept surging so ! 

The fervid kiss of heaven lay 
Precipitate on wood and sea. 
Two great souls glowed with ecstasy, 
The sea glowed scarce as warm as they. 



XXXI. 

'T was love's low amber afternoon. 
Two far-off pheasants thrummed a tune, 
A cricket clanged a restful air. 
The dreamful billows beat a rune 
Like heart regrets. 

Around her head 
There shone a halo. Men have said 



42 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS, 

'T was from a dash of Titian 
That flooded all her storm of hair 
In gold and glory. But they knew, 
Yea, all men know there ever grew 
A halo round about her head 
Like sunlight scarcely vanished. 

XXXII. 

How still she was ! She only knew 

His love. She saw no life beyond. 

She loved with love that only lives 

Outside itself and selfishness, — 

A love that glows in its excess ; 

A love that melts pure gold, and gives 

Thenceforth to all who come to woo 

No coins but this face stamped thereon, — 

Ay, this one image stamped upon 

Its face, with some dim date long gone. 

XXXIII. 

They kept the headland high ; the ship 
Below began to chafe her chain, 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 43 

To groan as some great beast iu pain ; 
While white fear leapt from lip to lip : 
" The woods are fire 1 the woods are flame ! 
Come down and save us, in God's name ! " 



He heard ! he did not speak or stir, — 
He thought of her, of only her. 
While flames behind, before them lay 
To hold the stoutest heart at bay ! 



Strange sounds were heard far up the flood, — 
Strange, savage sounds that chilled the blood ! 
Then sudden from the dense dark w*ood 
Above, about them where they stood 
A thousand beasts came peering out ; 
And now was thrust a long black snout, 
And now a tusky mouth. It was 
A sight to make the stoutest pause. 



" Cut loose the ship ! " the black mate cried ; 
" Cut loose the ship ! " the crew replied. 
They drove into the sea. It lay 
As light as ever middle day. 



44 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The while their half-blind bitch, that sat 
All slobber-mouthed, and monkish cowled 
With great, broad, floppy, leathern ears. 
Amid the men, rose up and howled, 
And doleful howled her plaintive fears. 
While all looked mute aghast thereat. 
It was the grimmest eve, I think, 
That ever hung on Hades' brink. 

Great broad-winged bats possessed the air, 
Bats whirling blindly everywhere ; 
It was such troubled twilight eve 
As never mortal would believe. 



xxxiy. 

Some say the crazed hag lit the wood 

In circle where the lovers stood ; 

Some say the gray priest feared the crew 

Might find at last the hoard of gold 

Long hidden from the black ship's hold, — 

I doubt me if men ever knew. 

But such mad, howling, flame-lit shore 

No mortal ever saw before. 



TEE SEA OF FIRE. 45 

Huge beasts above that shining sea, 
Wild, hideous beasts with shaggy hair, 
With red mouths lifting in the air, 
They piteous howled, and plaintively, — 
The wildest sounds, the weirdest sight 
That ever shook the w^alls of night. 

How lorn they howled, with lifted head, 
To dim and distant isles that lay 
Wedged tight along a line of red. 
Caught in the closing gates of day 
'Twixt sky and sea and far away, — 
It was the saddest sound to hear 
That ever struck on human ear. 

They doleful called ; and answered they 
The plaintive sea-cows far away, — 
The great sea-cows that called from isles, 
Away across wide watery miles, 
With drijDping mouths and lolling tongue, 
As if they called for captured young, — 

The hucje sea-cow^s that called the whiles 
Their great wide mouths were mouthing moss ; 
And still they doleful called across 



46 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

From isles beyond the watery miles. 
No sound can half so doleful be 
As sea-cows calling from the sea. 



XXXV. 



The drowned sun sank and died. He lay 
In seas of blood. He sinking drew 
The gates of sunset sudden to. 
Where shattered day in fragments lay. 
And night came, moving in mad flame : 
The night came, lighted as he came. 
As lighted by high, summer sun 
Descending through the burning blue. 
It was a gold and amber hue. 
And all hues blended into one. 
The night sf^illed splendor where she came, 
And filled the yellow world with flame. 



The moon came on, came leaning low 
Along the far sea-isles aglow ; 
She fell alon<:( that amber flood 
A silver flame in seas of blood. 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 47 



It was tlie strangest moon, ah me ! 
That ever settled on God's sea. 



XXXVl. 

Slim snakes slid down from fern and grass, 
From wood, from fen, from anywhere ; 
You could not step, you would not pass, 
And you would liesitate to stir, 
Lest in some sudden, harried tread 
Your foot struck some unbruisfed head : 

They slid in streams into the stream, — 
It seemed like some infernal dream ; 
They curved, and graceful curved across, 
Like graceful, waving sea-green moss, — 
There is no art of man can make 
A ripple like a rippling snake ! 

XXXVII. 

Abandoned, lorn, the lovers stood, 
Abandoned there, death in the air ! 
That beetling steep, that blazing wood, — 
Red flame ! and red flame everv where ! 



48 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Yet was he born to strive, to bear 
The front of battle. He would die 
In noble effort, and defy 
The grizzled visage of despair. 

He threw his two strong arms full length 
As if to surely test their strength ; 
Then tore his vestments, textile things 
That could but tempt the demon wings 
Of flame that girt them round about. 
Then threw his garments to the air 
As one that laughed at death, at doubt, 
And like a god stood grand and bare. 

She did not hesitate ; she knew 
The need of action ; swift slie threw 
Her burning vestments by, and bound 
Her wondrous wealth of hair that fell 
An all-concealing cloud around 
Her glorious presence, as he came 
To seize and bear her through the flame, ~ 
An Orpheus out of burning hell ! 

He leaned above her, wound his arm 
About her splendor, while the noon 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 49 

Of flood- tide, manhood, flushed his face, 
And high flames leapt the high headland ! — 
They stood as twin-hewn statues stand, 
High lifted in some storied place. 

He clasped her close, he spoke of death, — 
Of death and love in the same breath. 
He clasped her close ; her bosom lay 
Like ship safe anchored in some bay. 



XXXVIII. 

The flames ! They could not stand or stay ; 

Before the beetling steep, the sea ! 

But at his feet a narrow way, 

A short steep path, pitched suddenly 

Safe open to the river's beach. 

Where lay a small white isle in reach, — 

A small, white, rippled isle of sand 

Where yet the two might safely land. 

And there, through smoke and flame, behold 
The priest stood safe, yet all appalled ! 
He reached the cross ; he cried, he called ; 
He waved his high-held cross of gold. 



50 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

He called and called, lie bade them fly 
Through flames to him, nor bide and die ! 

Her lover saw ; he saw, and knew 

His giant strength would bear her through. 

And yet he would not start or stir. 

He clasped her close as death can hold, 

Or dying miser clasp his gold, — 

His hold became a part of her. 

He would not give her up ! He would 
Not bear her waveward though he could ! 
That height was heaven ; the wave was hell. 
He clasped her close, — what else had done 
The manliest man beneath the sun ? 
Was it not well ? was it not well ? 

O man, be glad ! be grandly glad, 
And kinglike walk thy ways of death ! 
For more than years of bliss you had 
That one brief time you breathed her breath. 
Yea, more than years upon a throne 
That one brief time you held her fast, 
Soul surged to soul, vehement, vast, — 
True breast to breast, and all V3ur own. 



^ 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 51 

Live me one day, one narrow night, 
One second of supreme delight 
Like that, and I will blow like chaff 
The hollow years aside, and laugh 
A loud triumphant laugh, and I, 
King-like and crowned, will gladly die. 

Oh, hut to wrap my love with flame ! 
With flame within, with flame without ! 
Oh, but to die like this, nor doubt — 
To die and know her still the same ! 
To know that down the ghostly shore 
Snow-white she waits me evermore I 



XXXIX. 

He poised her, held her high in air, — 
His great strong limbs, his great arm's length !- 
Then turned his knotted shoulders bare 
As birth-time in his splendid strength. 
And strode, strode with a lordly stride 
To where the high and wood-hung edge 
Looked down, far down upon the molten tide. 
The flames leapt with him to the ledge, 
The flames leapt leering at his side. 



52 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

XL. 

He leaned above the ledge. Below 
He saw the black ship idly cruise,— 
A midge below, a mile below. 
His limbs were knotted as the thews 
Of Hercules in his death-throe. 

The flame ! the flame ! the envious flame ! 
She wound her arms, she wound her hair 
About his tall form, grand and bare, 
To stay the fierce flame where it came. 

The black ship, like some moonlit wreck, 
Below alone? the burninoj sea 
Crept on and on all silently, 
With silent pygmies on her deck. 

Tliat midge-like ship far, far below ; 
That mirage lifting from the hill ! 
His flame-lit form began to grow, — 
To grow and grow more grandly still. 
The ship so small, that form so tall, 
It grew to tower over all. 

A tall Colossus, bronze and gold, 
As if that flame-lit form were he . 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 53 

Who once bestrode the Ehodian sea, 
And ruled the watery world of old: 
As if the lost Colossus stood 
Above that burning sea of wood. 

And she, that shapely form upheld. 
Held high, as if to touch the sky, 
What airy shape, how shapely high, — 
A goddess of the seas of eld ! 

Her hand upheld, her high right hand, 
As if she would forget the land; 
As if to gather stars, and heap 
The stars like torches there to light 
Her Hero's path across the deep 
To some far isle that fearful night. 

It was as if Colossus came. 

Came proudly reaching from the flame 

Above the sea in sheen of gold. 

His sea-bride leaping from his hold ; 

The lost Colossus, and his bride 

In bronze perfection at his side : 

As if the lost Colossus came 



54 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Companioned from the past, his bride 
With torch all faithful at his side : 

With star-tipped torch that reached and rolled 

Through cloud-built corridors of gold : 

His bride, austere and stern and grand, — 

Bartholdi's goddess by the sea, 

Far lifting, lighting Liberty 

From prison seas to Freedom's land. 



XLL 

The flame ! the envious flame, it leapt 
Enraged to see such majesty, 
Such scorn of death ; such kingly scorn. 
Then like some lightning-riven tree 
They sank down in that flame — and slept 
And all was hushed above that steep 
So still, that they might sleep and sleep ; 
As still as when a day is born. 

At last ! from out the embers leapt 
Two shafts of light above the night, — 
Two wings of flame that lifting swept 
In steady, calm, and upward flight; 



THE SEA OF FIRE. 55 

Two wings of flame against the white 
Far-lifting, tranquil, snowy cone ; 
Two wings of love, two wings of light, 
Far, far above that troubled night. 
As mounting, mounting to God's throne. 



XLII. 

And all night long that upward light 

Lit up the sea-cow's bed below : 

The far sea-cows still calling so 

It seemed as they must call all night. 

All night ! there was no night. Nay, nay, 

There was no night. The night that lay 

Between that awful eve and day, — 

That nameless night was burned away. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 



PART I. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 

PART I. 

J^HYME on, rliyme on in reedy flow, 
river, rhymer ever sweet ! 
Tlie story of thy land is meet, 
The stars stand listening to know. 

Mhyme on, river of the earth ! 
Gray father of the dreadful seas. 
Rhyme on ! the world npon its knees 

Shall yet invoke thy loealth and luorth. 



Rhyme on, the reed is at thy mouth, 
kingly minstrel, mighty stream ! 
Thy Crescent City, like a dream, 

Havgs in the heaven of my South. 



60 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Rhyme on, rliyme, on I tliese hroken strings 
Sing sweetest in this warm south wind ; 
I sit thy willovj hanks and hind 

A hroken harp that fitful sings. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT BIVER. 61 



I. 



A ND where is my city, sweet blossom-sown 

town ? 
And what is her glory, and what has she done ? 
By the Mexican seas in the path of the sun 
Sit you down : in the crescent of seas sit you down. 



Ay, glory enough by my Mexican seas ! 
Ay, story enough in that battle-torn toVn, 
Hidden down in the crescent of seas, hidden 
down 

'Mid mantle and sheen of magnolia-strown trees. 



But mine is the story of souls ; of a soul 

That bartered God's limitless kingdom for 

gold, — 
Sold stars and all space for a thing he could 
hold 
In his palm for a day, ere he hid with the 
mole. 



G2 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

father of waters ! river so vast ! 

So deep, so strong, and so wondrous wild, — 
He embraces the land as he rushes past, 

Like a savage father embracing his child. 

His sea-land is true and so valiantly true, 
His leaf-land is fair and so marvellous fair. 
His palm-land is filled with a perfumed air 

Of magnolia blooms to its dome of blue. 

His rose-land has arbors of moss-swept oak, — 
Gray, Druid old oaks ; and the moss that sways 

And swings in the wind is the battle-smoke 
Of duellists, dead in her storied days. 

His love-land has churches and bells and chimes ; 

His love-land has altars and orange flowers ; 

And that is the reason for all these rhymes, — 

These bells, they are ringing through all the 
hours ! 

His sun-land has churches, and priests at prayer, 
White nuns, as white as the far north snow ; 
They go wdiere danger may bid them go, — 

They dare when the angel of death is there. 



"^HE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. G3 

His love-land has ladies so fair, so fair, 

In the Creole quarter, with great black eyes, — 

So fair that the Mayor must keep them there 
Lest troubles, like troubles of Troy, arise. 

His love-land has ladies, with eyes held down, — 
Held down, because if they lifted them, 

Why, you would be lost in that old French town. 
Though you held even to God's garment hem. 

His love-land has ladies so fair, so fair, 

That they bend their eyes to the holy book 

Lest you should forget yourself, your prayer. 
And never more cease to look and to look. 

And these are the ladies that no men see. 
And this is the reason men see them not. 

Better their modest sweet mystery, — 
Better by far than the battle-shot. 

And so, in this curious old town of tiles, 

The proud French quarter of days long gone, 

In castles of Spain and tumble-down piles 
These wonderful ladies live on and on. 



64 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

I sit in the cliurcli where they come and go; 

I dream of glory that has long since gone, 
Of the low raised high, of the high brought low, 

As in battle-torn days of Napoleon. 

These piteous places, so rich, so poor ! 

One quaint old church at the edge of the town 
Has white tombs laid to the very church door, — 

White leaves in the story of life turned down. 

White leaves in the story of life are these, 
The low white slabs in the long strong grass, 
Where Glory has emptied her hour-glass 

And dreams with the dreamers beneath the trees. 

I dream with the dreamers beneath the sod. 

Where souls pass by to the great white throne ; 
I count each tomb as a mute milestone 

For weary, sweet souls on their way to God. 

I sit all day by the vast, strong stream, 

'Mid low white slabs in the long strong grass 
Where Time has forgotten for aye to pass, 

To dream, and ever to dream and to dream. 



THE BHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 65 

This quaint old church with its dead to the door, 
By the cypress swamp at the edge of the town, 
So restful seems that you want to sit down 

And rest you, and rest you for evermore. 

And one white tomb is a lowliest tomb, 

That has crept up close to the crumbling door, — 

Some penitent soul, as imploring room 
Close under the cross that is leaning o'er. 

'Tis a low white slab, and 'tis nameless, too — 
Her untold story, why, who should know ? 

Yet God, I reckon, can read right through 
That nameless stone to the bosom below. 

And the roses know, and they pity her, too ; 
They bend their heads in the sun or rain, 
And they read, and they read, and then read 
again. 

As children reading strange pictures through. 

"Wliy, surely her sleep it should be profound ; 
For oh the apples of gold above 1 
And oh the blossoms of bridal love ! 

And oh the roses that gather around 1 

5 



66 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The sleep of a night, or a thousand morns ? 

Why what is the difference here, to-day ? 

Sleeping and sleeping the years away 
With all earth's roses, and none of its thorns. 



Magnolias white and the roses red — 

The palm-tree here and the cypress there : 

Sit down by the palm at the feet of the dead, 
And hear a penitent's midnight prayer. 



II. 



The old churchyard is still as death, 
A stranger passes to and fro 
As if to church — he does not go — 

The dead nigjht does not draw a breath. 

o 



A lone sweet lady prays within. 
The stranger passes by the door — 
Will he not pray? Is he so poor 

He has no prayer for his sin ? 



TEE BEYME OF TEE GREAT RIVER. 67 

Is lie so poor ! His two strong hands 
Are full and heavy/as with gold; 

They clasp, as clasp two iron bands 
About two bags with eager hold. 

Will he not pause and enter in, 
Put down his heavy load and rest, 

Put off his garmenting of sin, 

As some black burden from his breast ? 

Ah, me ! the brave alone can pray. 
The church-door is as cannon's mouth 
To sinner North, or sinner South, 

More dreaded than dread battle day. 

Now two men pace. They pace apart, 
And one with youth and truth is fair ; 

The fervid sun is in his heart, 
The tawny South is in his hair. 

Ay, two men pace, pace left and right — 
The lone, sweet lady prays within — 

Ay, two men pace : the silent night 
Kneels down in prayer for some sin. 



68 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Lo! two men pace; and one is gray, 
A blue-eyed man from snow-clad land, 
AVith something heavy in each hand, — 

With heavy feet, as feet of clay. 

Ay, two men pace ; and one is light 
Of step, but still his brow is dark 
His eyes are as a kindled spark 

That burns beneath the brow of nioht ! 

And still they pace. The stars are red, 
The tombs are white as frosted snow ; 

The silence is as if the dead 
Did pace in couples, to and fro. 



III. 

The azure curtain of God's house 

Draws back, and hangs star-pinned to 
space"; 
I hear the low, large moon arouse, 

I see her lift her languid face. 

I see her shoulder up the east, 

Low-necked, and large as womanhood, — 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 69 

Low-necked, as for some ample feast 
Of gods, within von orange-wood. 

She spreads white palms, she whispers peace, — 
Sweet peace on earth for evermore ; 

Sweet peace for two beneath the trees, 
Sweet peace for one within the door. 

The bent stream, like a scimitar 

Flashed in the sun, sweeps on and on. 

Till sheathed like some great sword new-drawn 

In seas beneath the Carib's star. 

The high moon climbs the sapphire hill, 

The lone sweet lady prays within ; 

The crickets keep a clang and din — 
They are so loud, earth is so still ! 

And two men glare in silence there ! 
The bitter, jealous hate of each 
Has grown too deep for deed or speech — 

The lone, sweet lady keeps her prayer. 

The vast moon high through heaven's field 
In circlin^i chariot is rolled ; 



70 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The golden stars are spun and reeled, 
And woven into cloth of gold. 

The white magnolia fills the night 

With perfume, as the proud moon fills 

The glad earth with her ample light 
From out her awful sapphire hills. 

White orange blossoms fill the boaohs 
Above, about the old church door, — 

They wait the bride, the bridal vows, — 
They never hung so fair before. 

The two men glare as dark as sin ! 
And yet all seems so fair, so wliite, 
You would not reckon it was night, — 

The while the lady prays within. 



IV. 



She prays so very long and late, — 
The two men, weary, waiting there, 

The great magnolia at the gate 
Bends drowsily above her prayer. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 71 

The cypress in his cloak of moss, 
That watches on in silent gloom. 

Has leaned and shaped a shadow-cross 
Above the nameless, lowly tomb. 



What can she pray for ? What her sin ? 

What folly of a maid so fair ? 

What shadows bind the wondrous hair 
Of one who prays so long within ? 

The palm-trees guard in regiment. 

Stand right and left without the gate ; 
The myrtle-moss trees wait and wait ; 

The tall magnolia leans intent. 

The cypress trees, on gnarled old knees. 
Far out the dank and marshy deep 
Where slimy monsters groan and creep, 

Kneel with her in their marshy seas. 

What can her sin be ? Who shall know ? 

The night Hies by, — a bird on wing ; 
The men no longer to and fro 

Stride up and down, or anything. 



72 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

For one so weary and so old 

Has hardly strength to stride or stir; 
He can but hold his bags of gold, — 

But hug his gold and wait for her. 



The two stand still, — stand face to face. 
The moon slides on ; the midnight air 
Is perfumed as a house of prayer — 

The maiden keeps her holy place. 

Two men ! And one is gray, but one 
Scarce lifts a full-grown face as yet : 
With light foot on life's threshold set, ■ 

Is he the other's sun-born son ? 

And one is of the land of snow, 
And one is of the land of sun ; 
A black-eyed burning youth is one, 

But one has pulses cold and slow: 

Ay, cold and slow from clime of snow 
Where Nature's bosom, icy bound, 
Holds all her forces, hard, profound, — 

Holds close where all the South lets go. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 73 

Blame not the sun, blame not the snows ; 
God's great schoolhouse for all is clime, 
The great school-teacher, Father Time ; 

And each has borne as best he knows. 



At last the elder speaks, — he cries, — 
He speaks as if his heart would break ; 

He speaks out as a man that dies, — 
As dying for some lost love's sake : 

** Come, take this bag of gold, and go 1 
Come, take one bag ! See, I have two ! 

Oh, why stand silent, staring so. 

When I would share my gold with you \ 

" Come, take this gold ! See how I pray ! 

See how I bribe, and beg, and buy, — 
Ay, buy ! buy love, as you, too, may 

Some day before you come to die. 

" God ! take this gold, I beg, I pray ! 
I beg as one who thirsting cries 
For but one drop of drink, and dies 

In some lone, loveless desert way. 



74 SONOS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" You hesitate ? Still hesitate ? 

Stand silent still and mock my pain ? 
Still mock to see me wait and wait, 

And wait her love, as earth waits rain ? " 



V. 



broken ship ! starless shore ! 

black and everlasting night, 
Where love comes never any more 

To light man's way with heaven's light. 



A godless man with bags of gold 
I think a most unholy sight ; 
Ah, who so desolate at night 

Amid death's sleepers still and cold ? 



A godless man on holy ground 
T think a most unholy sight. 

I hear death trailing like a hound 
Hard after him, and swift to bite. 



THE RHYME OF THE ORE AT RIVER. 75 

VI. 

The vast moon settles to the west : 
Two men beside a nameless tomb, 

And one w^onld sit thereon to rest, — 
Ay, rest below, if there were room. 

What is this rest of death, sweet friend ? 

What is the rising up, — and where ? 

I say, death is a lengthened prayer, 
A longer night, a larger end. 

Hear you the lesson I once learned : 

I died ; I sailed a million miles 

Through dreamful, flowery, restful isles, — 
She was not there, and I returned. 

I say the shores of death and sleep 

Are one ; that when we, wearied, come 
To Lethe's waters, and lie dumb, 

'T is death, not sleep, holds us to keep. 

Yea, we lie dead for need of rest 
And so the soul drifts- out and o'er 
The vast still waters to the shore 

Beyond, in pleasant, tranquil quest : 



76 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

It sails straight on, forgetting pain, 
Past isles of peace, to perfect rest, — 
Now were it best abide, or best 

Eeturn and take up life again ? 

And that is all of death there is, 
Believe me. If you find your love 
In that far land, then like the dove 

Abide, and turn not back to this. 

But if you find your love not there ; 
Or if your feet feel sure, and you 
Have still allotted work to do, — 

Why, then return to toil and care. 

Death is no mystery. 'T is plain 
If death be mystery, then sleep 
Is mystery thrice strangely deep, — 

For oh this comin^r back again ! 

Austerest ferryman of souls I 
I see the gleam of solid shores, 
I hear thy steady stroke of oars 

Above the wildest wave that rolls. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 77 

O Charon, keep thy sombre ships ! 

We come, with neither myrrh nor balm, 

Nor silver piece in open palm, 
But lone white silence on our lips. 



VII. 

She prays so long ! she prays so late ! 
What sin in all this flower-land 
Against her supplicating hand 

Could have in heaven any weight ? 

Prays she for her sweet self alone ? 
Prays she for some one far away. 
Or some one near and dear to-day. 

Or some poor, lorn, lost soul unknown ? 

It seems to me a selfish thino- 
To pray forever for one's self ; 
It seems to me like heaping pelf 

In heaven by hard reckoning. 

Why, I would rather stoop, and bear 
My load of sin, and bear it well 
And bravely down to burning hell, 

Than ever pray one selfish prayer ! 



78 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

VIII. 

The swift chameleon in the gloom — 
This silence it is so profound ! — 
Forsakes its bough, glides to the ground, 

Then up, and lies across the tomb. 

It erst was green as olive-leaf , 
It then grew gray as myrtle moss 
The time it slid the moss across ; 

But now 't is marble- white with grief. 

The little creature's hues are gone ; 
Here in the pale and ghostly light 
It lies so pale, so panting white, — 

White as the tomb it lies upon. 

The two men by that nameless tomb. 

And both so still ! You might have said 
These two men, they are also dead, 

And only waiting here for room. 

How still beneath the orange-bough ! 
How tall was one, how bowed was one I 
The one was as a journey done, 

The other as beginning now. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 79 

And one was young, — young with that youth 
Eternal that belongs to truth ; 
And one was old, — old with the years 
That follow fast on doubts and fears. 

And yet the habit of command 

Was his, in every stubborn part ; 

No common knave was he at heart, 
Nor his the common coward's hand. 

He looked the young man in the face, 

So full of hate, so frank of hate ; 
The other, standing in his place. 

Stared back as straiiiht and hard as fate. 



And now he sudden turned away, 
And now he paced the path, and now 

Came back, beneath the orange-bough 
Pale-browed, with lips as cold as clay. 

As mute as shadows on a wall. 
As silent still, as dark as they, 
Before that stranger, bent and gray, 

The youth stood scornful, proud, and tall. 



80 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

He stood, a tall palmetto-tree 

With Spanish daggers guarding it ; 
Nor deed, nor word, to him seemed fit 

While she prayed on so silently. 

He slew his rival with his eyes ; 

His eyes were daggers piercing deep, — 
So deep that blood began to creep 

From their deep wounds and drop wordwise 

His eyes so black, so bright that they 
Might raise the dead, the living slay. 
If but the dead, the living, bore 
Such hearts as heroes had of yore : 

Two deadly arrows barbed in black, 
And feathered, too, with raven's wing ; 
Two arrows that could silent sting, 

And with a death-wound answer back. 

How fierce he was 1 how deadly still 
In that mesmeric, hateful stare 
Turned on the pleading stranger there 

That drew to him, despite his will : 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 81 

So like a bird down-fluttering, 

Down, down, beneath a snake's bright eyes, 
He stood, a fascinated thing, 

That hopeless, unresisting, dies. 

He raised a hard hand as before, 
Eeached out the gold, and offered it 
With hand that shook as ague-fit, — 

The while the youth but scorned the more. 

' You will not touch it ? In God's name 

Who are you, and what are you, then ? 
Come, take this gold, and be of men, — 
A human form with human aim. 

" Yea, take this gold, — she must be mine 
She shall be mine ! I do not fear 
Your scowl, your scorn, your soul austere, 
The living, dead, or your dark sign. 

" I saw her as she entered there ; 
I saw her, and uncovered stood : 
The perfume of her womanhood 
Was holy incense on the air. 



82 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" She left behind sweet sanctity, 
Eeligion lay the way she went ; 
I cried I would repent, repent 1 
She passed on, all unheeding me. 

" Her soul is young, her eyes are bright 
And gladsome, as mine own are dim ; 
But, oh, I felt my senses swim 
The time she passed me by to-night ! — 

" The time she passed, nor raised her eyes 
To hear me cry I would repent, 
Nor turned her head to hear my cries. 
But swifter went the way she went, — 

" Went swift as youth, for all these years ! 
And this the strangest thing appears, 
That lady there seems just the same, — 
Sweet Gladys — Ah ! you know her name? 

" You hear her name and start that I 

Should name her dear name trembling so ? 
Why, boy, when I shall come to die 
That name shall be the last I know. 



THE EHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 83 

" That name shall be the last sweet name 
My lips shall utter in this life ! 
That name is brighter than bright flame, — 
That lady is my wedded wife ! 

'' Ah, start and catch vour burning breath ! 
Ah, start and clutch your deadly knife 1 
If this be death, then be it death, — 
But that loved lady is my wife ! 

" Yea, you are stunned ! your face is white, 
That I should come confronting you, 
As comes a lorn ghost of the night 
From out the past, and to pursue. 

" You thought me dead ? You shake your head. 
You start back horrified to know 
That she is loved, that she is wed. 
That you have sinned in loving so. 

" Yet what seems strange, that lady there. 
Housed in the holy house of prayer. 
Seems just the same for all her tears, — 
For all my absent twenty years. 



84 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" Yea, twenty years to-night, to-night. 
Just twenty years this day, this hour, 
Since first I plucked that perfect flower, 
And not one witness of the rite. 

" Nay, do not doubt, — I tell you true ! 
Her prayers, her tears, her constancy 
Are all for me, are all for me, — 
And not one single thought for you ! 

" I knew, I knew she would be here 
This night of nights to pray for me ! 
And how could I for twenty year 
Know this same night so certainly ? 

" Ah me 1 some thoughts that we would drown 
Stick closer than a brother to 
The conscience, and pursue, pursue 
Like baying hound to hunt us down. 

" And then, that date is history ; 

For on that night this shore was shelled, 
And many a noble mansion felled, 
With many a noble family. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 85 

" I wore the blue ; I watched the flight 

Of shells like stars tossed through the air 
To blow your hearth-stones — anywhere, 
That wild, illuminated night. 

" Nay, rage befits you not so well : 
Why, you were but a babe at best. 
Your cradle some sharp bursted shell 
That tore, maybe, your mother's breast ! 

" Hear me ! We came in honored war. 
The risen world was on your track ! 
The whole North-land was at our back, 
From Hudson's bank to the North star ! 

" And from the North to palm-set sea 
The splendid fiery cyclone swept. 
Your fathers fell, your mothers wept, 
Their nude babes clinging to the knee. 

" A wide and desolated track : 
Behind, a path of ruin lay ; 
Before, some women by the way 
Stood mutely gazing, clad in black. 



86 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" From silent women waitincj there 

Some tears came down like still small rain ; 
Their own sons on the battle plain 
Were now but viewless ghosts of air. 

" Their own dear daring boys in gray, — 
They should not see them any more ; 
Our cruel drums kept telling o'er 
The time their own sons went away. 

" Through burning town, by bursting shell — 
Yea, I remember well that night ; 
I led through orange-lanes of light, 
As through some hot outpost of hell ! 

That night of rainbow-shot and shell 
Sent from your surging river's breast 
To waken me, no more to rest, — 

That night I should remember well ! 

That night amid the maimed and dead, — 
A night in history set down 
By light of many a burning town, 

And written all across in red, — 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 87 

" Her father dead, her brothers dead, 

Her home m flames, — what else could she 
But fly all hel]3less here to me, 
A fluttered dove, that night of dread ? 

" Short time, hot time had I to woo 
Amid the red shells' battle-chime ; 
But women rarely reckon time, 
And perils speed their love when true. 

"And then I wore a captain's sword ; 
And, too, had oftentime before 
Doffed cap at her dead father's door, 
And passed a soldier's pleasant word. 

" And then — ah, I was comely then ! 
I bore no load upon my back, 
I heard no hounds upon my track, 
But stood the tallest of tall men. 

" Her father's and her mother's shrine. 
This church amkl the orange wood, 
So near and so secure it stood, 
It seemed to beckon as a sign. 



88 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS, 

" Its white cross seemed to beckon me : 
My heart was strong, and it was mine 
To throw myself upon my knee, 
To beg to lead her to this shrine. 

" She did consent. Through lanes of light 
I led through that church-door that night — 
Let fall your hand I Take back your face 
And stand, — stand patient in your place ! 

" She loved me ; and she loves me still. 
Yea, she clung close to me that hour 
As honey-bee to honey -flower, — 
And still is mine, through good or ilL 

" The priest stood there. He spake the prayer ; 
He made the holy, mystic sign. 
And she was mine, was wholly mine, — 
Is mine this moment I will swear I 

" Then days, then nights, of vast delight, — 
Then came a doubtful, later day ; 
The faithful priest, now far away. 
Watched with the dying in the fight : 



THE RHYME OF THE GEE AT RIVEB. 89 

" The priest amid the dying, dead, 
Kept duty on the battle-field , — 
That midnight marriage unrevealed 
Kept strange thouglits running through my head. 

*' At last a stray ball struck the priest : 
This vestibule his chancel was. 
And now none lived to speak her cause, 
Eecord, or champion her the least. 

" Hear me ! I had been bred to hate 
All priests, their mummeries and all. 
Ah, it was fate, — ah, it was fate 
That all things tempted me to fall ! 

" And then the rattling songs we sang 
Those nights when rudely revelling, — 
The songs that only soldiers sing, — 
Until the very tent-poles rang ! 

" What is the rhyme that rhymers say 
Of maidens born to be betrayed 
By epaulettes and shining blade. 
While soldiers love and ride away ? 



90 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" And then my comrades spake her name 
Half tauntmg, with a touch of shame ; 
Taught me to hold that lily-flower 
As some light pastime of the hour. 

" And then the ruin in the land, 

The death, dismay, the lawlessness ! 
Men gathered gold on every hand, — 
Heaped gold : and why should T do less ? 

" The cry for gold was in the air. 

For Creole gold, for precious things ; 

The sword kept prodding here and there 

Through bolts and sacred fastenings. 

" 'Get gold ! get gold ! ' This Avas the cry. 
And I loved gold. AVhat else could I 
Or you, or any earnest one 
Born in this getting age have done ? 

" With this one lesson taught from youth, 

And ever taught us, to get gold, — 

To get and hold, and ever hold, — 

What else could I have done, forsooth ? 



TEE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 91 

" She. seeing how I sought for gold, — 
This girl, my wife, one late night told 
Of treasures hidden close at hand, 
In her dead father's mellow land : 

" Of gold she helped her brothers hide 
Beneath a broad banana tree, 
The day the two in battle died, — 
The night she dying fled to me. 



It seemed too good ; I laughed to scorn 
Her trustful tale. She answered not ; 

But meekly on the morrow morn 

Two massive bags of bright gold brought. 



" And when she brought this gold to me, 
Eed Creole gold, rich, rare, and old, — 
When I at last had gold, sweet gold, 
I cried in very ecstasy ! 



" Eed gold ! rich gold ! two bags of gold ! 
The two stout bags of gold she brought 
And gave with scarce a second thought, 
Why, her two hands could hardly hold I 



92 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" Now I had gold 1 two bags of gold ! 
Two wings of gold to fly, and fly 
The wide world's girth ; red gold to hold 
Against my heart for aye and aye I 

" My country's lesson : * Gold ! get gold ! ' 
I learned it well in land of snow ; 
And what can glow, so brightly glow, 
Long winter nights of Northern cold ? 

" Ay, now at last, at last I had 

The one thing, all fair things above 
My land had taught me most to love! 
A miser now ! and I grew mad. 

" With those two bags of gold my own, 
I then began to plan that night 
For flight, for far and sudden flight, — 
For flight ; and, too, for flight alone. 

" I feared ! I feared ! INfy heart grew cold, 
Some one might claim this gold of me ! 
I feared her, — feared her purity. 
Feared all things but my bacfs of gold. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER, 93 

" I grew to hate her face, her creed, — 
That face the fairest ever yet 
That bowed o'er holy cross or bead, 
Or yet was iu God's image set. 

" I fled, — nay, not so knavish low 
As you have fancied, did I fly ; 
I sought her at that shrine, and I 
Told her full frankly I should go. 

" I stood a giant in my power, — 
And did she question or dispute ? 
I stood a savage, selfish brute, — 
She bowed her head, a lily-flower. 

"And when I sudden turned to go. 

And told her I should come no more. 
She bowed her head so low, so low, 
Her vast black hair fell pouring o'er. 

" And that was all ; her splendid face 
Was mantled from me, and her night 
Of hair half hid her from my sight 
As she fell moaning in her place. 



94 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" And tliere, 'mid her dark night of hair, 

She sobbed, low moaning through her tears, 
That she would wait, wait all the years, — 
Would wait and pray in her despair. 

" Nay, did not murmur, not deny, — 

She did not cross me one sweet word ! 
I turned and fled : I thought I heard 
A night-bird's piercing low death-cry ! " 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 

PAET II. 

TJOW soft this moonlight of the South ! 

Hoiu sweet my South in soft moonlight I 
I luant to kiss her ivarm sweet mouth 
As she lies sleeping here to-night. 

Hoio still ! I do not hear a mouse. 

I see some bursting huds a'ppear ; 

I hear God in His garden, — hear 
Him trim some flowers for His house. 



I hear some singing stars ; the mouth 
Of my vast river sings and sings, 
And pifes on reeds of pleasant things, 

Of splendid promise for my South: 



96 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS, 

My great South-woman, soon to rise 
And tiptoe up and loose her hair ; 

Tiptoe, and take from all the skies 

God's stars and glorious moon to wear ! 



THE. RHYME OF THE GEE AT RIVER. 97 



'THHE poet shall create or kill. 

Bid heroes live, bid braggarts die. 
I look against a lurid sky, — 

My silent South lies proudly still. 



The lurid light of burning lands 

Still climbs to God's house overhead ; 

Mute women wring white withered hands ; 
Their eyes are red, their skies are red. 



Poor man ! still boast your bitter wars ! 

Still burn and burn, and burning die. 
But God's white finger spins the stars 

In calm dominion of the sky. 

And not one ray of light the less 

Comes down to bid the grasses spring ; 
No drop of dew nor anything 

Shall fail for all your bitterness. 



98 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

The land that nursed a nation's youth, 
Ye burned it, sacked it, sapped it dry. 

Ye gave it falsehoods for its truth, 
And fame was fashioned from a lie. 

If man grows large, is God the less ? 
The moon shall rise and set the same. 
The great sun spill his splendid flame 

And clothe the world in queenliness. 

And from that very soil ye trod 

Some large-souled seeing youth shall come 
Some day, and he shall not be dumb 

Before the awful court of God. 



II. 

The weary moon had turned away, 
The far North-Star was turning pale 
To hear the stranger's boastful tale 

Of blood and flame that battle day. 

And yet again the two men glared. 
Close face to face above that tomb ; 
Each seemed as jealous of the room 

The other eager waiting shared. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 99 

Again the man began to say, — 
As taking up some broken thread, 
As talking to the patient dead, — 

The Creole was as still as they : 

" That night we burned yon grass-grown town, — 
The grasses, vines are reaching up ; 
The ruins they are reaching down. 

As sun-browned soldiers when they sup. 

" I knew her, — knew her constancy. 
She said, this night of every year 
She here would come, and kneeling here, 
Would pray the live-long night for me. 

" This praying seems a splendid thing I 
It drives old Time the otlier way ; 
It makes him lose all reckoning 
Of years that pagans have to pay. 

" This praying seems a splendid thing ! 
It makes me stronger as she prays — 
But oh the bitter, bitter days 
When I became a banished thing 1 



100 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" I fled, took ship, — I fled as far 
As far ships drive tow'rd the North-Star; 
For I did hate the South, the sun 
That made me think what I had done. 



" I could not see a fair palm-tree 
In foreign land, in pleasant place, 
But it would whisper of her face 
And shake its keen sharp blades at me. 

" Each black-eyed woman would recall 
A lone church-door, a face, a name, 
A coward's flight, a soldier s shame : 
I fled from woman's face, from all. 

" I hugged my gold, my precious gold. 

Within my strong, stout, buckskin vest. 
I wore my bags against my breast 
So close I felt my heart grow cold. 

" I did not like to see it now ; 

I did not spend one single piece. 
I travelled, travelled without cease 
As far as Russian ship could plow. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 10 1 

" And when my own scant hoard was gone, 
And I had reached the far North-land, 
I took my two stout bags in hand 
As one pursued, and journeyed on. 

" Ah, I was weary ! I grew gray ; 
I felt the fast years slip and reel 
As slip black beads when maidens kneel 
At altars when out-door is gay. 

" At last I fell prone in the road, — 
Fell fainting with my cursed load. 
A skin-clad cossack helped me bear 
My bags, nor would one shilling share. 

" He looked at me with proud disdain, — 
He looked at me as if he knew ; 
His black eyes burned me thro' and thro' ; 
His scorn pierced like a deadly pain. 

" He frightened me with honesty ; 

He made me feel so small, so base, 
I fled, as if the fiend kept chase, — 
The fiend that claims my company ! 



102 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" I bore my load alone ; I crept 
Far up the steep and icy way ; 
And there, before a cross there lay 
A barefoot priest, who bowed and wept. 

" I threw my gold right down and sped 

Straight on. And oh my heart was light ! 
A spring-time bird in spring-time flight 
Flies not so happy as I fled. 

" I felt somehow this monk would take 
My gold, my load from off my back ; 
Would turn the fiend from off my track, 
Would take my gold for sweet Christ's sake ! 

" I fled ; I did not look behind ; 
I fled, fled w4th the mountain w^ind. 
At last, far down the mountain's base 
I found a pleasant resting-place. 

" I rested there so long, so well, 
More grateful than all tongues can tell. 
It was such pleasant thing to hear 
That valley's voices calm and clear : 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 103 

" That valley veiled in mountain air, 

With white goats on the hills at morn ; 
That valley green with seas of corn, 
With cottasje islands here and there. 



" I watched the mountain girls. The hay 
They mowed w^as not more sweet than they ; 
They laid brown hands in my white hair ; 
They marvelled at my face of care. 

" I tried to laugh ; I could but weep. 

I made these peasants one request, — 
That I with them might toil or rest. 
And with them sleep the long, last sleep. 



" I begged that I might battle there, 
For that fair valley-land, for those 
Who gave me cheer when girt with foes, 
And have a country, loved and fair. 



" Where is that spot that poets name 

Our country ? name the hallowed land ? 
Where is that spot where man must stand 
Or fall when girt with sword and flame ? 



104 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" Where is that one permitted spot ? 

Where is the one place man must fight ? 
Where rests the one God-given right 
To fight, as ever patriots fought ? 

" I say 't is in that holy house 

Where God first set us down on earth : 
Where mother welcomed us at birth, 
And bared her breasts, a happy spouse. 

*' But when some wrong, some deed of shame, 
Shall make that land no more our own — 
Ah ! hunger for that holy name 
My country, I have truly known ! 

" The simple plough-boy from his field 

Looks forth. He sees God's purple wall 
Encircling him. High over all 
The vast sun wheels his shining shield. 

" This King, who makes earth what it is, — 
King David bending to his toil ! 
O lord and master of the soil. 
How envied in thy loyal bliss ! 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 105 

" Long live the land we loved in youth, — 
That world with blue skies bent about, 
Where never entered ugly doubt ! 
Long live the simple, homely truth ! 

" Can true hearts love some far snow-land. 
Some bleak Alaska bought with gold ? 
God's laws are old as love is old ; 
And Home is something near at hand. 

" Yea, change yon river's course ; estrange 
The' seven sweet stars ; make hate divide 
The full moon from the flowing tide, — 
But this old truth ye cannot change. 



" I begged a land as begging bread ; 

I begsred of these brave mountaineers 
To share their sorrows, share their tears 
To weep as they wept, with their dead. 

" They did consent. The mountahi town 
Was mine to love, and valley lands. 
That night the barefoot monk came down 
And laid my two bags in my hands ! 



106 SONOS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" On ! On 1 And oh the load I bore ! 

Why, once I dreamed my soul was lead ; 
Dreamed once it was a body dead I 
It made my cold, hard bosom sore. 

" I dragged that body forth and back — 

conscience, what a baying hound ! 
Nor frozen seas nor frosted ground 

Can throw this bloodhound from his track. 

"In farthest Eussia I lay down 
A dying man, at last to rest ; 

1 felt such load upon my breast 
As seamen feel, who sinking drown. 

" That night, all chill and desperate, 
I sprang up, for I could not rest ; 
I tore the two bags from my breast, 
And dashed them in the burning grate. 

" I then crept back into my bed ; 

I tried, I begged, I prayed to sleep ; 
But those red, restless coins would keep 
Slow dropping, dropping, and blood red. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 107 

" I heard them clink and clink and clink, — 
They turned, they talked within that grate. 
They talked of her ; they made me thmk 
Of one who still must pray and w^ait. 

" And when the bags burned crisp and black, 
Two coins did start, roll to the floor, — 
Roll out, roll on, and then roll back, 
As if they needs must journey more. 

" Ah, then I knew nor change nor space, 
Nor all the drowning years that rolled 
Could hide from me her haunting face, 
Nor still that red-tongued talking gold. 

" Again I sprang forth from my bed ! 
I shook as in an ague fit; 
I clutched that red gold, burning red, 
I clutched, as if to strangle it. 

" I clutched it up — you hear me, boy ? — 
I clutched it up with joyful tears ! 
I clutched it close, with such wild joy 
I had not felt for years and years I 



108 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

" Such joy 1 for I should now retrace 
My steps, should see my land, her face ; 
Bring back her gold this battle day. 
And see her, see her, hear her pray ! 

" I brought it back — you hear me, boy ? — 
I clutch it, hold it, hold it now : 
Bed gold, bright gold that giveth joy 
To all, and anywhere or how ; 

" That giveth joy to all but me, — 
To all but me, yet soon to all. 
It burns my hands, it burns ! but she 
Shall ope my hands and let it fall. 

" For oh T have ar willing hand 

To give these bags of gold ; to see 
Her smile as once she smiled on me 
Here in this pleasant, warm palm-land ! " 

He ceased, he thrust each hard-clenched fist, 
He threw his gold hard forth again, 

As one impelled by some mad pain 
He would not or could not resist. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 109 

The Creole, scorning, turned away, 

As if he turned from that lost thief, — 
The one that died without belief 

That awful crucifixion day. 



III. 



Believe in man, nor turn away. 

Lo! man advances year by year; 

Time bears him upward, and his sphere 
Of life must broaden day by day. 



Believe in man w^ith large belief ; 

The garnered grain each harvest-time 
Hath promise, roundness, and full prima 

For all the empty chaff and sheaf. 

Believe in man with proud belief : 
Truth keeps the bottom of her well, 

■And when the thief peeps down, the thief 
Peeps back at him, perpetual. 



110 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Faint not that this or that man fell ; 

For one that falls a thousand rise 
To lift white Progress to the skies: 

Truth keeps the hottom of her well. 



Fear not for man, nor cease to delve 
For cool sweet truth, with large belief. 

Lo ! Christ himself chose only twelve, 
Yet one of these turned out a thief. 



IV. 



Down through the dark magnolia leaves 
Where climbs the rose of Cherokee 
Against the orange-blossomed tree, 

A loom of moonlight weaves and weaves, 

A loom of moonlight, weaving clothes 
From snow-white rose of Cherokee, 
And bridal blooms of orange-tree. 

For fairy folk in fragrant rose. 



THt: RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER, m 

Down througli the mournful myrtle crape, 
Through moving moss, through ghostly gloom, 

A long white moonbeam takes a shape 
Above a nameless, lowly tomb; 

A long white finger through the gloom 
Of grasses gathered round about, — 
As God's white finger pointing out 

A name upon that nameless tomb. 



V. 



Her white face bowed in her black hair, 
The maiden prays so still within 
That you might hear a falling pin, — 

Ay, hear her white unuttered prayer. 

The moon has grown disconsolate. 

Has turned her down her walk of stars 
Why, she is shutting up her bars, 

As maidens shut a lover's gate. 

The moon has grown disconsolate ; 
She will no longer watch and wait. 



112 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

But two men wait ; and two men will 
Wait on till morning, mute and still : 



Still w^ait and walk among the trees, 
Quite careless if the moon may keep 
Her walk along her starry steep 

Above the Southern pearl-sovv^n seas. 



They know no moon, or set or rise 
Of stars, or anything to light 

The earth or skies, save her dark eyes, 
This praying, waking, watching night. 



They move among the tombs apart, 
Their eyes turn ever to that door ; 

They know the worn walks there by heart 
They turn and walk them o'er and oer. 



They are not wide, these little walks 
For dead folk by this crescent town. 
They lie right close wdien they lie down. 

As if they kept up quiet talks. 



THE RHYME OF THE ORE AT RIVER. 113 



VI. 



The two men keep their paths apart ; 
But more and more begins to stoop 
The man with gold, as droop and droop 

Tall plants with something at their heart. 

Now once again with eager zest 
He offers gold with silent speech ; 
The other will not walk in reach, 

But walks around, as round a pest. 

His dark eyes sweep the scene around, 
His young face drinks the fragrant air, 
His dark eyes journey everywhere, — 

The other's cleave unto the ground. 

It is a weary walk for him, 

For oh he bears a weary load ! 

He does not like that narrow road 
Between the dead — it is so dim : 

It is so dark, that narrow place. 

Where graves lie thick, like yellow leaves 



114 SONOS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Give us the light of Christ and grace, 
Give light to garner in the sheaves. 

Give light of love ; for gold is cold, 






And gold is cruel as a crime ; 

It mves no liojht at such sad time 



As when man's feet wax weak and old. 



Ay, gold is heavy, hard, and cold ! 

And have I said this thinj? before ? 

Well, I will tell it o'er and o'er, 
'T were need be told ten thousand fold. 

" Give us this day our daily bread," — 
Get this of God, then all the rest 
Is housed in thine own honest breast, 

If you but lift a lordly head. 



VII. 



Oh, I have seen men, tall and fair, 

Stoop down their manhood with disgust, 
Stoop down God's image to the dust, 

To get a load of gold to bear ; 



THE BHYME OF TEE GREAT RIVER. 115 

Have seen men selling day by day 

The glance of manhood that God gave : 
To sell God's image as a slave 

Might sell some little pot of clay ! 

Behold ! here in this green graveyard 

A man with gold enough to fill 

A coffin, as a miller's till ; 
And yet his path is hard, so hard ! 

His feet keep sinking in the sand, 
And now so near an opened grave ! 
He seems to hear the solemn wave 

Of dread oblivion at hand. 

The sands, they grumble so, it seems 
As if he w^alks some shelving brink. 
He tries to stop, he tries to think, 

He tries to make believe he dreams : 

Why, he is free to leave the land, 
The silver moon is white as dawn ; 

Why, he has gold in either hand. 
Has silver ways to walk upon. 



116 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

And who should chide, or bid him stay ? 

Or taunt, or threat, or bid him fly ? 
The world 's for sale, I hear men say, 

And yet this man has gold to buy. 

Buy what ? Buy rest ? He could not rest ! 
Buy gentle sleep? He could not sleep. 
Though all these graves were wide and deep 

As their wide mouths with the request. 

Buy Love, buy faith, buy snow-white truth ? 

Buy moonlight, sunlight, present, past ? 
Buy but one brimful cup of youth 

That calm souls drink of to the last ? 

God ! 't is pitiful to see 

This miser so forlorn and old ! 
O God ! how poor a man may be 

With nothing in this world but gold ! 



Vlll. 

The broad magnolia's blooms are white ; 

Her blooms are large, as if the moon 
Had lost her way some lazy night. 

And lodged here till the afternoon. 



THE RHYME OF THE QBE AT RIVER. II7 

Oh, vast white blossoms breathing love ! 

White bosom of my lady dead, 

In your white heaven overhead 
I look, and learn to look above. 



IX. 

All night the tall magnolia kept 

Kind watch above the nameless tomb: 
Two shapes kept waiting in the gloom 

And gray of morn, where roses wept. 

The dew- wet roses wept ; their eyes 

All dew, their breath as sweet as prayer. 
And as they wept, the dead down there 

Did feel their tears and hear their sighs. 

The grass uprose as if afraid 

Some stranger foot might press too near ; 

Its every blade was like a spear. 
Its every spear a living blade. 

The grass above that nameless tomb 

Stood all arrayed, as if afraid 
Some weary pilgrim seeking room 

And rest, might lay where she was laid. 



118 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 



x: 



'T was morn, and yet it was not morn ; 

'T was morn in heaven, not on earth, — - 

A star was singing of a birth. 
Just saying that a day was born. 

The marsh hard by that bound tlie lake, — 
The great low sea-lake, Ponchartrain, 
Shut off from sultry Cuban main, — 

Drew up its legs, as half awake : 

Drew long stork legs, long legs that steep 
In slime where alligators creep, — 
Drew long green legs that stir the grass, 
As when the late lorn night-winds pass. 

Then from the marsh came croakings low, 
Then louder croaked some sea-marsh beast ; 
Then, far away against the east, 

God's rose of morn began to grow. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. HO 

From out the marsh, against that east, 
A ghostly moss-swept cypress stood ; 
With ragged arms above the wood 

It rose, a God-forsakeu beast- 



It seemed so frightened where it rose ! 
The moss-hung thing it seemed to wave 
The worn-out garments of the grave, — 

To wave and w^ave its old grave-clothes. 

Close by, a cow rose up and lowed 

From out a palm-thatched milking-shed. 

A black boy on the river road 

Fled sudden, as the night had fled : 

A nude black boy, a bit of night 
That had been broken off and lost 
From flying night, the time it crossed 

The surging river in its flight : 

A bit of darkness, following 
The sable night on sable wing, — 
A bit of darkness stilled with fear. 
Because that nameless tomb was near. 



120 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Then holy bells came pealing out ; 

Then steamboats blew, then horses neighed ; 
Then smoke from hamlets round about 

Crept out, as if no more afraid. 

Then shrill cocks here, and shrill cocks there. 
Stretched glossy necks and filled the air. 
How many cocks it takes to make 
A country morning well awake ! 

Then many boughs, with many birds, — 

Young boughs in green^ old boughs in gray, — 
These birds had very much to say 

In their soft, sweet, familiar words. 

And all seemed sudden glad ; the gloom 
Forgot the church, forgot the tomb ; 
And yet like monks with cross and bead 
The myrtles leaned to read and read. 

And oh the fragrance of the sod ! 

And oh the perfume of the air ! 

The sweetness, sweetness everywhere. 
That rose like incense up to God ! 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 121 

I like a cow's breath in sweet spring, 
I like the breath of babes new-born ; 

A maid's breath is a pleasant thing, — 
But oh the breath of sudden morn ! 



Of sudden morn, when every pore 
Of mother earth is pulsing fast 

With life, and life seems spilling o'er 
With love, with love too sweet to last 

Of sudden morn beneath the sun, 

By God's great river wrapped in gray, 

That for a space forgets to run. 
And hides his face as if to pray. 



XI. 



The black-eyed Creole kept his eyes 
Turned to the door, as eyes might turn 
To see the holy embers burn 

Some sin away at sacrifice. 



122 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

Full dawn ! but yet he knew no dawn, 
Nor song of bird, nor bird on wing, 
Nor breatli of rose, nor anything 

Her fair face lifted not upon. 



And yet he taller stood with morn ; 
His bright eyes, brighter than before. 
Burned fast against that fastened door. 

His proud lips lifting up with scorn, — 

"With lofty, silent scorn for one 

Who all night long had plead and plead, 
"With none to witness but the dead 

How he for gold must be undone. 

Oh, ye who feed a greed for gold, 

And barter truth, and trade sweet youth 

For cold hard gold, behold, behold I 
Behold this man ! behold this truth ! 

"Whj, what is there in all God's plan 
Of vast creation, high or low. 
By sea or land, by sun or snow. 

So mean, so miserly as man ? 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 123 

Lo, earth and heaven all let go 

Their garnered riches, year by year ! 

The treasures of the trackless snow. 
Ah, hast thou seen how very dear ? 

The wide earth gives, gives golden grain, 
Gives fruits of gold, gives all, gives all I 
Hold forth your hand, and these shall fall 

In your full palm as free as rain. 

Yea, earth is generous. The trees 
Strip nude as birth-time without fear, 
And their reward is year by year 

To feel their fulness but increase. 

The law of Nature is to give, 

To give, to give ! and to rejoice 

In giving with a generous voice. 
And so trust God and truly live. 

But see this miser at the last, — 

This man who loves, grasps hold of gold, 
Who grasps it with such eager hold. 

To hold forever hard and fast: 



124 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

As if to hold what God lets go ; 
As if to hold, while all around 
Lets go, and drops upon the ground 

All things as generous as snow. 

Let go your greedy hold, I say ! 
Let go your hold ! Do not refuse 
'Till death comes by and shakes you loose, 

And sends you shamed upon your way; 

What if the sun should keep his gold ? 

The rich moon lock her silver up ? 

What if the gold-clad buttercup 
Became a miser, mean and old ? 

Ah, me ! the cofhns are so true 

In all accounts, the shrouds so thin, 

That down there you might sew and sew, 
Nor ever sew one pocket in. 

And all that you can hold of lands 

Down there, below the grass, down there, 
Will only be that little share 

You hold in your two dust-full hands. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 125 



XII. 



She comesi she comes ! The stony floor 
Speaks out ! And now the rusty door 
At last has just one word this day, 
With mute religious lips, to say. 

She comes ! she comes I And lo, her face 
Is upward, radiant, fair as prayer ! 

So pure here in this holy place, 
Where holy peace is everywhere. 

Her upraised face, her face of light 
And loveliness, from duty done, 
Is like a rising orient sun 

That pushes back the brow of night. 

How brave, how beautiful is truth ! 
Good deeds untold are like to this. 
But fairest of all fair things is 
A pious maiden in her youth : 

A pious maiden as she stands 

Just on the threshold of the years 
• That throb and pulse with hopes and fears. 
And reaches God her helpless hands. 



126 SOXGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

How fair is she ! How fond is she ! 

Her foot upon the threshold there. 
Her breath is as a blossomed tree, — 

This maiden mantled m her hair ! 

Her hair, her black, abundant hair. 
Where ni^ht, inhabited all nif^ht 
And all this day, will not take flight, 

But finds content and houses there. 

Her hands are clasped, her two small hands ; 
They hold the holy book of prayer 
Just as she steps the threshold there, 

Clasped downward where she silent stands. 



XIII. 

Once more she lifts her lowly face, 
And slowly lifts her large, dark eyes 
Of wonder ; and in still surprise 
She looks full forward in her place- 
She looks full forward on the air 
Above the tomb, and yet below 
The fruits of goLl, the blooms of snow. 
As looking — looking anywhere. 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 127 

She feels — she knows not what she feels ; 
It is not terror, is not fear, 
. But there is something that reveals 
A presence that is near and clear. 

She does not let her eyes fall down, 
They lift against the far profound : 

Against the blue above the town 

Two wide-winged vultures circle round. 

Two brown birds swim above the sea, — 
Her large eyes swim as dreamily 
And follow far, and follow high, 
Two circling black specks in the sky. 

One forward step, — the closing door 
Creaks out, as frightened or in pain ; 
Her eyes are on the ground again — 

Two men are standing close before. 

o 

" My love," sighs one, "my life, my all ! " 
Her lifted foot across the sill 
Sinks down, — and all things are so still 
You hear the orange blossoms fall. 



128 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS, 

But fear comes not where duty is, 

And purity is peace and rest ; 

Her cross is close upon her breast, 
Her two hands clasp hard hold of this. 

Her two hands clasp cross, book, and she 

Is strong in tranquil purity, — 

Ay, strong as Samson when he laid 

His two hands forth, and bowed and prayed. 

One at her left, one at her right. 
And she between, the steps upon, — ■ 

I can but see that Syrian night, 
The women there at early dawn 

'T is strange, I know, and may be wrong, 
But ever pictured in my song ; 
And rhyming on, I see the day 
They came to roll the stone away. 



XIV. 

The sky is like an opal sea, 

The air is like the breath of kine. 

But oh her face is white, and she 
Leans faint to see a lifted sign, — 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 129 

To see two hands lift up and wave 
To see a face so white with woe, 
So ghastly, hollow, white as though 

It had that moment left the grave. 



Her sweet face at that ghostly sign, 
Her fair face in her weight of hair, 
Is like a white dove drowning there, — 

A white dove drowned in Tuscan wine. 

He tries to stand, to stand erect. 

'T is gold, 't is gold that holds him down ! 

And soul and body both must drown, — 
Two millstones tied about his neck. 

Now once again his piteous face 
Is raised to her face reaching there. 
He prays such piteous, silent prayer 

As prays a dying man for grace. 

It is not good to see him strain 
To lift his hands, to gasp, to try 
To speak. His parched lips are so dry 

Their sight is as a living pain. 
9 



130 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. 

I think that rich man down in hell 

Some like this old man with his gold, — 

To gasp and gasp perpetual 

Like to this minute I have told. 



XV. 

At last the miser cries his pain, — 
A shrill, wild cry, as if a grave 
Just ope'd its stony lips and gave 

One sentence forth, then closed again. 

" 'T was twenty years last night, last night ! " 
His lips still moved, but not to speak ; 
His outstretched hands so trembling weak 

Were beggar's hands in sorry plight. 

His face upturned to hers, his lips 
Kept talking on, but gave no sound ; 
His feet were cloven to the ground ; 

Like iron hooks his finger-tips. 

" Ay, twenty years," she sadly sighed : 
" I promised mother every year 
That I w^ould pray for father here, 

As she had prayed, the night she died : 



THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. 131 

" To pray as she prayed, fervidly ; 
As she had promised she would pray 
The sad night of her marriage day, 

For him, wherever he might be." 

Then she was still ; then sudden she 
Let fall her eyes, and so outspake 
As if her very heart would break, 

Her proud lips trembling piteously : 

" And whether he come soon or late 
To kneel beside this nameless grave, 

May God forgive my father's hate 
As I forgive, as she forgave ! " 

He saw the stone ; he understood 

With that quick knowledge that will come 
Most quick when men are made most dumb 

With terror that stops still the blood. 

And then a blindness slowly fell 
On soul and body ; but his hands 
Held tight his bags, two iron bands, 

As if to bear them into hell. 



132 SONGS OF TEE MEXICAN SEAS. 

He sank upon the nameless stone 
With oh such sad, such piteous moan 
As never man might seek to know 
From man's most unfomivinoj foe. 

He sighed at last, so long, so deep, 
As one heart breaking in one's sleep, — 
One long, last, weary, willing sigh, 
As if it were a grace to die. 

And then his hands, like loosened bands, 
Hung down, hung down on either side ; 
His hands hung down and opened wide 

He rested in the orange lands. 



University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 



SONGS OF.-^THE SIERRAS. 



THE ENGLISH PRESS. 



The Spectator. 

It has for some time been a matter of speculation to Englishmen whether the 
new life of the English race in the Far West would produce a new growth of poetry. 
Bret Harte and the author of these So7i^s of the Sierras have now removed the 
question from the region of speculation to the region of fact. There are, indeed, 
other American poets of older standing, whose claims we are far from depreciating; 
Mr. Lowell, for instance, is, in our judgment, entitled to stand in the very first 
rank of living writers of English. But he and his colleagues of the Eastern 
States must be regarded by us, and we trust they do not refuse to regard them- 
selves, as continuing and developing the already mature literature of the mother 
country rather than as the founders of a new culture. The poetry of Lowell or 
Wendell Holmes is distinguished, indeed, from that of their English contempora- 
ries by a character and local color and humor which are national as well as indi- 
vidual ; yet we feel that its groundwork is, in substance, the same. The same com- 
plex and advanced civilization rules men's thoughts in Boston and in London. It 
is far otherwise in the remoter districts, where there exists not a transplanted, fairly 
homogeneous society, but a society which has formed, or is still forming, itself on 
the spot from the concourse of all kinds of elements ; and we might well be anxious 
that the comparatively primitive life of the West should find a poetical exponent 
before its first freshness is crystallized into the forms of older communities. Certain 
English critics are disposed to accept Walt Whitman as such; but whatever may 
be his individual merits — and our own estimate of them would be very different 
from what his admirers claim for him — he is so isolated and erratic that he cannot 
be taken as representing anything beyond the promptings of his own fancy ; whether 
his peculiarities are due to excess of eccentricity or to want of education, they, at 
all events, make him too singular to be a type. Now Mr. Miller's work has a real 
significance beyond what appears on the face of it. It brings the first-fruits, and the 
promise of a new soil. It shows a true revival of primitive life in its vigor, sim- 
plicity, and occasional rudeness. Its merits and defects are those of confident and 
over-lusty youth, and the defects, with one exception, whicli will presently be men- 
tioned, are venial. 

It is not pretended that Mr. Miller's poetry, or even his language, is faultless. 
There are obvious inequalities, blemishes, and slips of language; much work 
roughly, some incorrectlv done ; but in spite of all drawbacks, the fact remains that 



4 SOJVGS OF THE SIERRAS. 

when one has taken up the volume it is very difficult to put it down; and such a fact 
in the case of a writer who has ample time before him to perfect his style outAveighs 
a multitude of shortcomings in detail. The nature of these minor defects will suf- 
ficiently appear in the course of the extracts to be given, and for the reason just 
mentioned they do not affect our general estimate; it is therefore needless to dwell 
on them. The constant use of the periphrastic conjugation with the auxiliary verb 
do in places where the principal verb does not require any emphasis, is the only fault 
of style that has struck us distinctly and obtrusively. 

That which is first to fix the attention as a prominent quality in Mr. Miller's poems 
is the faculty of transmitting direct and vivid impressions of outward nature. In 
the older countries, the value of an artist's observations is in danger of decreasing 
at the same time that the perfection of the instruments for recording them is being 
increased. It is difficult for any one within the immediate influence of a European 
culture, if he does not possess original power of a very rare quality, not to mix up 
his actual experience with preconceived ideas of what his experience ought to be; 
and therefore in the world of art, not less than in any other world, great is the mul- 
titude of those who seek their life and lose it. On the other hand, the best part of 
Mr. Miller's work belongs to a stage of thought at which seeking has hardly begun; 
he can lose his life in nature, and has the reward of finding it. This description of 
a storm breaking, which occurs very early in the volume, is enough to show tlie 
presence of no common power : — 

" I lay in my hammock : the air was heavy 
And hot, and threatening; the very heaven 
Was holding its breath; and bees in a bevy 
Hid under my thatch ; and birds were driven 
In clouds to the rocks in a hurried whirr 
As I peer'd down by the path for her; 
She stood like a bronze bent over the river, 
The proud eyes fix'd, the passion unspoken. 
When the heavens broke like a great dyke broken. 
Then, ere I fairly had time to give her 
.A shout of warning, a rushing of wind 
And the rolling of clouds and a deafening din. 
And a darkness that had been black to the blind 
Came down, as I shouted, 'Come in ! come in I 
Come under the roof, come up from tlie river, 
As up from a grave, — come now, or come never I ■• 
The tassell'd tops of the pines were as weeds. 
The red-woods rock'd like to lake-side reeds, 
And the world seem'd darken'd and drown'd forever." 

The honor of sudden darkness could not be more forcibly brought out than in the 
line we have italicized, and, so far as we know, the expression is quite new; at any 
rate, the whole scene was fi-esh in the writer's mind. If it be asked Vv-ho she was 
that bent over the river, the answer is not altogether satisfactory. She is the same 
person who appears throughout the book in slightly varying apparel ; a Byronic lay- 
figure transported to the mountains and prairies, and looking amongst them even 
more tawdry and artificial than at home. This is the one serious fault wliich is ap- 
parent in Mr. Joaquin Miller's poems. An excessive adniiration for Byron has Jed 
him into a following of Byron's least admirable manner, by wliich he often docs 
himself grave injustice. Instead of being strong and natural, as he can be when he 
is content to be himself, he every now and then tries to be a shadow of Byron, ar-* 



THE ENGLISH PRESS. 5 

so becomes artificial and turgid. The poem entitled " Californian " is all but spoilt 
by this unfortunate propensity. And the same cause makes it quite impossible to 
say at present what may be his real power of insight into character. There are some 
signs indeed that Mr. Miller has observed men; but until the Byronic glamour is 
removed from his eyes, he has no chance of really seeing a woman. Time and wider 
experience may be trusted, we hope, to give him courage to look at humanity, as he 
has looked at the forests and the sierras, with the untrammelled strength of his own 
eyes. As it is, Mr. Miller is often happy in dealing with single phases of emotion. 
There is true and spontaneous poetry in this painting (from WUh Walker in Nic- 
aragua) : — 

♦' O passion-tossed and bleeding past, 
Part now, part well, part wide apart, 
As ever ships on ocean slid 
Down, down the sea, hull, sail, and mast; 
And in the album of my heart 
Let hide the pictures of your face, 
With other pictures in their place, 
Slid over like a coffin's lid." 

But to return to the power of sympathy with nature, by which the new poet most 
chiefly makes good his claim ; the same freshness of vision, which gives such force 
and truth to his direct descriptions, works in his mind a revival of the old myth- 
forming energy. His soul goes forth to the sun, or the ocean, or the mountain 
snows, as did the soul of ancient men in days long past. In short, he makes myths 
over again, quite unaffected by their having been made and fixed in mythology once 
or many times before. Thus he looks at the mountains after sunset : — 

" When the red-curtain'd west has bent red as with Aveeping, 
Low over the couch where the prone day lay dymg, 
I have stood with brow lifted, confronting the mountams 
That held their white faces of snow in the heavens. 
And said-, ' It is theirs to array them so purely, ^ 
Because of their nearness to the temple eternal ; - 
And childlike have said, 'They are Aiir restmg-places 
For the dear, weary dead on their way up to heaven.' 

The peculiar unrhymed metre of this extract will be noticed. Mr. Miller employs it 
in long passages, and with considerable effect. We find, again, a very old piece of 
sun-mytholog5' revived in all the vigor of youth, and joyfully ignoring the fate of its 
eastern kindred, how they have died and been embalmed, and are now in process of 
dissection by comparative philology: — 

•' Where mountains repose in their blueness, 
Where the sun first lands in his newness, 
And marshals his beams and his lances. 
Ere down to the vale he advances 
With visor raised, and rides swiftly 
On the terrible night in his way, 
And Slavs him, and Avlth his sword deftly 
Hews from him the beautiful day. 
Lay nestled the town of Renalda." 

We must go a long way back to parallel this thorough and unartificial transfusion 
of natuie with human life. The sea, too, is alive as the moderns can seldom make 
him : — 



SONGS OF THE SIERRAS. 



" The warm sea fondled with the shore, 
And laid his white face on the sands," 



« * * * * m '■ 

We give one more example from Mr. Miller, the more interesting in tliat myth, 

metaphor, and description are to be seen all blending into one another. A moun«i 

taineer is speaking with a stranger, who is wandering in disgust with tlie world: — 

" At night, o'erspread by the rich purple robe, 
The deep, imperial, Tyrian hue that folds 
The invisible form of the eternal God, 
You will see the sentry stars come marching forth 
And take their posts upon the field above, 
Around the great white tent where sleeps their chief; 
You will hear the kakea singing in a dream 
The wildest, sweetest song a soul can drink; 
And when the tent is folded up, and all 
The golden-fringed sentries faced about 
To let the pompous day-king pass along, 

We two will stand upon a sloping hill, ' 

Where white-lipped springs come leaping, laughing up, 
With water spouting forth in merry song, . 

Like bridled mirth from out a school-girl's throat, 
And look far down the bending Willamette, 

And in his thousand graceful curs-es and strokes, I 

And strange meanderings, men misunderstand, 
Read the unutterable name of God. 

Don Carlos. 

** Why, truly now, this fierce and broken land. 
Seen through your eyes, assumes a fairer shape. 
Lead up, for you are nearer God than 1." 

The poem called " Ina," from which this is taken, is in form dramatic. It hardly 
pretends to any unity of construction, but there is often great merit in the dialogue, 
and Mr. Miller has grappled with the difficulties of dramatic blank verse far more 
successfully than most of those who attempt the metre which is apparently the 
easiest, and really the most difficult, that a writer of English verse can choose. In- 
deed Mr. Miller's is almost always melodious, though in some places attention is 
required to seize the rhythm. Once or twice there is a startling resemblance to Mr, 
Swinburne's metrical effects, as in these stanzas of Ina's song: — 

" O hearts fill'd of fevers, of fires. 
Reaching forth from the tangible blossoms, > 
Reaching far for impossible things; 
Beat not nor break your warm wings 
On the cruel, cold bars any more. 

****** 

Leaves fade, and the frosts are before us; 
Leaves fall, and the winter winds are; 
Loves fail I Let us cross and deplore us; 
Loves die I Lift your hands as at war; 
Lift your hands to the world and deny it, 
Lift your voice, cry aloud, and deny; 
Cry aloud ' 'Tis a lie 1 ' and belie it, 
With lives made a beautiful lie." 

However, we do not believe the resemblance was intended. Rather the coincidence 
shows that Mr. Swinburne's manner is not so artificial or unnatural as is comiuoniy 
supposed. 



THE ENGLISH PRESS. 7 

There is yef to be noticed another piece of evidence, valuable because qmt« unde- 
signed of the primitive atmosphere of thought in which these poems were wnttea. 
Thrice the speaker is represented counting on his fingers, not as civilized man may 
do, using them only as an aid or check, but as the savage does, to whom they are 
the sole instrument and symbol of numeration: — 

" I lifted my fingers 
And fell to counting the round years over, 
That I had dwelt where tlie sun goes down. 
Four fvdl hands, and a finger over I " 

" They were so few, 
I near could count them on one hand." 

" I count my fingers over, so, 
And find it years and years ago." 

The significance of this will readily be seen by readers who have Mr. Tylor's chap- 
ter on finger-counting fresh in their memories. It has been made t^ appear, we 
trust that the virtues of Mr. Miller's poetry are of a kind hkely to be furtiier devel- 
oped; and the faults of a kind likely to be outgrown. If he escapes the dangers of 
premature success (and he has the strength to escape them), he may well achieve far 
greater things in the future. 

The AtJienceum. 

There is a current notion that American poetry should be different in kind irom 
ours -should, in the slang of criticism, "be racy of the soil from which it 
springs." Rivers of prodigious length, vast prairies and forests, and huge moun- 
tain-ranges, must, it is believed, reflect themselves in the productions of the native 
poet. We iesitate to share this belief. The bold pioneers who first penetrate the 
wilderness are too deeply engrossed in material concerns to occupy themselves with 
the divine art; and, when the wilderness becomes the seat of a dense population, 
its inhabitants live under conditions such as ^e. 

As far, at least, as literature is concerned, the Americans are not, as Mr. Lowell 
contends of yes erday. The man of the New World, inheriting our language, 
uTSs also L histo^, traditions, religion, modes of thought; and these - py. 

ical peculiarities of cou.r-/are influential enough 'y^^''^^^''-f'^^^Z 
Shakespeare equally with Uic man of Middlesex or of Warwick. Of this he vol 
!me ^nder notice is'corroboration. Mr. Miller has spent his whole life in the wi d 
woods and mountains of Western America, and yet is not an American of the type 
Intkipated '« Polished bronzes," "chiselled marble," " Italian skies," " Grecum 
forml^^havemLingtohim; a^d he has had dreams of dead and living poets die 

memory of which remains. . ,^,,llence is "Arizonian," so named from 

First in place, and, we may add, in excellence, is ^i i 

that western territory within which the scene is laid. 

* * * * 

There is much beauty in the idea which forms the basis of the poem ; but the 

JaU^en isTequentlyTrude and unsatisfactory. Mr. filler has himself d. 

Ws work as rough quartz; and he is not inaccurate. We find ^e g:old to be o^ 

finest quality; b^t the proportion it bears to the baser material is small. As will be 



8 SOJVGS OF THE SIERRAS. 

seen from the quotations we have made, the poems show traces of the influence of 
our best modern poets. Mr. Miller, however, is no copyist. If he has made other 
men his models, his life, experience, and nature have the effect of giving to his 
production a freshness and an originality obviously due to his own individuality. 
He resembles Mr. Browning in novel and apt metaphors taken from objects high 
Dr low, common or uncommon, but always new and forcible, and often quaint — 
making one smile at the sudden turn. So also he is like Mr. Browning in his 
homely strokes of humor. 

****** 
Mr. Miller is best in his lyrical compositions. He has a keen, and close, and 
attentive perception of nature, personal and external, and he is a clear, and accu- 
rate, and picturesque painter of its moods. His blank and unrhymed verse is bad : 
it is spasmodic and bombastic. 

****** 
In the lyrical poems we light upon incidents represented with great beauty and 
dramatic force; but here, when we most expect evidence of dramatic power, we are 
disappointed. The author is clearly unable to develop a character dramatically. 
His descriptions are all objective. Even subjective feelings are made objective, and 
treated objectively. 

The other poems in the volume are inferior to " Arizonian." " With Walker in 
Nicaragua " is occasionally tame, but there are parts of it extremely grand. The 
end of '' Californian," a long poem relating to life in the gold regions, is as fine as 
anything in the book, but the piece itself is not well sustained. "The Last Tas- 
chastas " is a graphic poem, in which the author revels in descriptions of chiefs, and 
the brown and red beauties of the Indian tribes, and shows his deep sympathy with 
those who are driven back by the white man and civilization. Although we cannot 
give Mr. Miller a front place in the hierarchy of modern poets, we are glad to wel- 
come him as a true and original singer. •' Songs of the Sierras " is a volume which 
must be read by all lovers of real poetry. 



The Saturday Review, 

Whatever the faults of style which disfigure Mr. Miller's poems — and they are 
many and flagrant — there can be no doubt tliat he possesses the genuine poetic 
faculty. He writes because he cannot help it — the best reason of all-- perhaps the 
only justifiable reason for composing poetry. The snowy Sierra and the tropical 
cafion, the roving, adventurous borderer's life, the stirring tales of hunt and foray, 
*11 these supplied materials pregnant with romance and poetry, and only required 
to be transmuted into words. This task Mr. Miller has attempted, and the fact that 
►lis lines glow with tropical passion, and tliat his descriptions transport us in imag- 
ination to the scenes among which they were composed, compels us to forgive him 
for the lawlessness with which he tramples on the conventional limitations of art. 

The poems are but seven in number, and amongst them the first two aie, to our 
mind, considerably the best. The first is entitled " Arizonian." 



311-77-6 



